Short and Sweet
by Primrue
Summary: A collection of drabbles from different drabble challenges on Tumblr. Features various pairings. But mostly Fred/Hermione.
1. Lucius and Hermione

**Prompt: Hermione Granger and Lucius Malfoy**

 **Quotes: "This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had. Of course I'm in."**

* * *

She couldn't believe her ears.

"You've finally lost it, then?"

Lucius snorted (or as much a man of his stature would dare snort). "I take it you don't find the suggestion agreeable?"

Hermione shook her head, aware that her mouth was still wide and dumb looking. "Er…it's not that, it's just that it's…well… you."

"And what does being me have to do with anything?" inquired the man, eyebrow raised challengingly. "Am I not a good husband? Do I not love my wife?"

Having somewhat recovered from the shocking announcement a few seconds ago, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Lucius, you know very well why I'm surprised. No, I don't doubt that you love Narcissa, obviously you do, seeing as how you're willing to embarrass yourself—"

"A Malfoy never embarrasses himself," he interrupted.

This time Hermione snorted and, unlike his, it was far from delicate. "Yeah…except when they pick the losing side of the war," she mumbled.

If Lucius heard he gave no indication. "Now, I know you and Draco are busy, but it would please me, and no doubt Narcissa, to have both of you alongside me. Will you, or will you not, help me put on a musical number for me and my wife's anniversary?"

Had she known this would come of letting her in-laws watch Muggle movies then Hermione wasn't sure she'd ever done it. However, the idea of watching Lucius Malfoy prance around singing Muggle songs…

She laughed. "This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had. Of course I'm in."


	2. Fred and Hermione

**Prompt: Hermione Granger and Fred Weasley**

 **Quotes: "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"**

* * *

Fred tried not to frown. He did, he really did. Just too bloody bad it happened to be bloody impossible when she was right there.

While Fred was miserable and glum, the witch had the nerve to stand by the shelves a few feet away and look perfectly at ease, with her stupid face, her stupid hair and her stupid…He sighed. Now she was laughing at something his twin said. Did she not know George already had a girlfriend?

With a little more force than necessary, Fred shut the cage to the pygmy puffs, earning him a dozen high pitched squeals.

"Blimey, Freddie, are you trying to have us arrested for animal abuse?" asked George, his expression far too amused for Fred's liking. "You know, the soon-to-be-Head of the Department for Magical Creatures is standing right over there."

"Oh, really," taunted Fred. "I wasn't aware, since neither of you bothered to come over and talk to me."

"What are you on about? I'm with you right now," said George, looking confused, but as he took in his brother's state something seemed to click. "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"

Fred spluttered. "What? What are you saying, I've never…Your face is jealous."

"Melin's beard, you really are jealous."

"Anyone would be ticked off at the way she keeps coming here," said Fred, seeing no point in pretending. His twin knew him too well for that. "Every afternoon this week she visits, yet does she ever bother to speak to anyone but you? No."

George tried not to smile. "She's only talking to me because I'm the one she feels comfortable with, you know."

"Brilliant, that makes me feel loads better."

His twin smirked. "You really are daft, aren't you?" He laughed and clapped Fred's shoulder, leaving him to consider his words.

Fred stood there, feeling puzzled, when he caught the witch's eyes. Hermione smiled and gave a tiny wave, but there was something odd with her face. She looked a bit…flushed.

 _Interesting_ , he thought.

For the first time in days, Fred felt his spirits lift.


	3. Harry and Hermione

**Prompt: Harry Potter and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "You did all of this for me?"**

* * *

When Hermione walked in to the kitchen she wasn't sure what she'd find. That is to say, she wasn't sure if she'd have enough ingredients to make a full meal or if she'd have to settle for a sandwich for tonight. Either way, she'd never anticipated anything quite like this.

"What-" she started. "What's going on?"

"Surprise!" said Harry, conjuring some confetti to stream out his wand at her.

"Pfft, Harry James Potter, what on earth are you doing?" She plucked a few tiny pieces of party décor out of her mouth as her eyes continued to scan the room. There were streamers, balloons, a banner, party lanterns and what looked like a three course meal for two.

"Did you cook?"

Harry grinned. "Yep."

"And decorate?"

"Sure did."

Hermione looked at him. "The cake?"

Harry shrugged. "That one's Mrs. Weasley's doing, but I still think I did a pretty good job with everything else."

Hermione could only stare. She struggled to find words, but the only thing that came out was: "But it's your birthday."

"I know, Hermione. I wasn't born yesterday," said The-Boy-Who-Smiled-At-His-Own-Joke.

"That one was awful and you know it," she said, but grinning nonetheless. "So why did you set it all up here? Why aren't you celebrating with the Weasley's?"

"Oh, you mean why am I not attending a party my best friend declined?" Harry shook his head. "Gee, I wonder."

Hermione felt heat rush to her neck. "Well, I apologized, and I told you that I had to write that report for work-"

Harry hurried to her side, putting his hands reassuringly at her shoulders. "Hey, hey, I know. Take it easy, I wasn't blaming you or anything. I just meant that I'd rather be here with you on my birthday. You…you shouldn't be alone."

Hermione had to avoid his kind, green eyes for if she didn't she'd surely cry at the spot. Ever since she'd found out the spell she casted on her parents had been irreversible, Hermione had been avoiding the others, afraid to without a warning break down in front of them, as she was prone to do nowadays. The only people she willingly socialized with was Harry and Ginny, because as much as she loved him, she never could let herself cry around Ron. So, when Harry's birthday party had been brought up, as much as it pained her, she had to say no to going. She just couldn't face being in the Burrow, and stand amongst so many people and their surely pitying eyes. She wouldn't be able to endure it.

She didn't feel too distraught over passing up the gathering, though, for she knew that her friend would manage to have fun without her. He'd have a blast, there were so many people who loved him and he deserved to be celebrated. But now, as she fit all the pieces together and hearing what he'd said, she felt overwhelmed thinking that Harry, someone who'd grown up having his birthday neglected, would trade all that in for a quiet evening with her…

"You did all of this for me?" Hermione's voice cracked but she hardly noticed.

Harry was smiling warmly at her, and she could see no regret in his eyes. "Of course. You're my sister."


	4. Pansy and Neville

**Prompt: Neville Longbottom and Pansy Parkinson**

 **Quotes: "Give me a hand."**

* * *

Pansy cursed her all of her friends as she hurried through the grounds.

"Some great friends they are," she muttered, "forcing me to walk all by myself . . ."

Once she arrived at the greenhouse, she scanned the room for her bag. Spotting it in the far end, she moved, but she'd barely made it two steps before she tripped.

"Bloody— Longbottom?!"

Sure enough, lying on his back beneath her, was Neville Longbottom.

"Er . . . hi, Parkinson."

"Don't you 'hi' me! You made me trip, you idiot!"

"Sorry—"

"Are you completely out of your mind? What are you even laying here for? Are you really as stupid as they think you are? Oh, everyone's going to hear about this! I'll tell them all about the imbecile who sleeps in the greenhouse and makes people fall. I could have gotten severely injured, I'll have you know! And—what . . . why can't I move? Longbottom, what did you do?"

Longbottom made a miserable face. "I didn't do anything. It's the plant."

Pansy's eyes traveled down to her legs, seeing vines wrapping themselves around them. She screamed.

"Get them off! Get them off!"

She turned back to the Gryffindor, noticing this time that his hands were tied down by the vines as well. She saw how he grimaced, and realized her screaming must have busted his eardrums. But she didn't care.

"I'm going to burn this whole building down if you don't tell me how to get rid of them!" she said. Pansy wasn't stupid, she knew you couldn't say whatever spell you fancied at magical plants, but she also didn't want to get strangled to death by one. And next to _Longbottom,_ no less. What would people say when they found their bodies?

Oh, Merlin, what would her mother say?

"Parkinson, the more you struggle, the more it's got you, so please calm down."

Pansy sent him a glare, but she was surprised to see it didn't affect him. Instead, he appeared to be in full business-mode.

"I need for you to grab your wand and do a Severing charm at the vines. Can you do that?"

She nodded.

The vines had reached her thigh now, but she managed to reach into the pocket of her robes and pull her wand. She attempted to direct it at her legs, but couldn't get the angle quite right. Having no desire to mutilate herself, she settled on releasing Longbottom from his vines.

He gave a hiss of relief, and rubbed his wrists.

"You'll have time for that later," said Pansy. "Get these things off me!"

"You shout a lot," said he, but grabbed for the wand he'd dropped on the ground next to them.

"Don't mess this up, Longbottom," said Pansy, "If I lose my leg, I swear to Salazar . . ."

He cast the charm, and to their shared relief, no limbs were lost.

However, that's when Pansy realized just how close she was to Longbottom's face, and how her whole body was pressed against him.

With big force, she pushed herself off of him, and tried to stand. Too late she noticed that her legs were a bit wobbly, and so she immediately crashed back down on the floor.

Meanwhile, Longbottom was already up and collecting the broken parts of the plants.

Pansy huffed. "By all means, care for that dead, withered piece of compost. I'll just sit here."

Longbottom turned, an incredulous expression on his face.

"Are you deaf? Give me a hand!"

The boy seemed to finally catch on to what she was saying, because he quickly moved toward her and grabbed hold of her hand and hoisted her up. Pansy stood, and while she dusted off her robes, she examined the windows. Once she was sure no one was around, she looked at the Gryffindor in front of her, grabbed hold of his red and gold tie, and pulled his lips down to hers.

"See, was that so hard?" she asked when they parted.

"Sorry," he said, smiling. "I get so caught up, I sometimes don't notice anything else."

Pansy sighed. "I wish you'd talk about me that way someday."

He stroked her cheek. "I will. How long do we have?"

"I told my friends I'd only gone to retrieve my bag, so perhaps another ten minutes before it gets suspicious? Can you believe none of them offered to follow with me?"

Longbottom chuckled. "I think I've made my opinion on your friends clear before, haven't I?"

"And I share most of those, but you know; appearances. Although, not all of them are bad," she said, thinking about Daphne and Theo. Perhaps they'd understand.

"You can tell anyone you like," said Longbottom. "I want to tell everyone, shout it from the Astronomy Tower, if only you'd let me."

Pansy sighed. They'd been over this before. "Just a bit more time."

Longbottom kissed her forehead. "Okay. But perhaps there's one thing we could do," he started.

"What?"

"Well, I wouldn't mind being on a first name basis with my own girlfriend."

Pansy laughed, and kissed Neville again.


	5. Voldemort and Hermione

**Prompt: Hermione Granger and Lord Voldemort**

 **Quotes: "Are you flirting with me?"**

* * *

It had been two years since the war at Hogwarts had been lost.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was no more, and though being heartbroken about this still, Hermione had found someone who tried his very best to soothe her sadness.

He wasn't like the other wizards she'd met in her lifetime. He didn't bring her flowers or chocolates. He didn't even take her out on dates. He was a man with many responsibilities, and as such, there wasn't much time for such frivolous things. And Hermione didn't mind.

Because what he did do, was to remember was the important things.

He remembered how much she loved books, granting her an entire library, filled with tomes on magic, on her birthday last year. He remembered how she took her tea, and would punish any of the servants who served it wrong. He remembered she cared for house-elves, so none of the said servants were elves, but instead, paid witches or wizards.

Her wizard remembered many things about her, but most importantly, he remembered the people she despised.

Hermione had been lounging inside her library when one of the Death Eaters entered. She looked up from her book.

"Yes?" she said, sending him a glare. Everyone knew not to disturb her while she read.

"P-pardon me, my lady," said the Death Eater whom she didn't know the name of. To be honest, she stopped caring about their names ages ago. They increased in number every day, what was the point? "But the Dark Lord wishes to see you in his throne room."

Ah, yes, the throne room. One of _his_ more silly ideas.

Hermione sighed and stuck a bookmark between the pages of the book she had been reading. "Lead me to him."

A few moments later they stood in front of a huge wooden door. The Death Eater beside her opened the door for her and she entered.

"What is it that's so urgent that you summon me here instead of fetching me yourself?" asked Hermione, approaching the end of the room. Her steps echoed loudly on the stone floor, yet he hadn't turned around. He was speaking to one of his minions.

"—go get her, and don't leave us waiting. It will be most unfortunate for you, if you do."

"Yes, my lord."

The minion walked out of one of the side-doors that led to the dungeons, and Voldemort finally faced her.

"My dear," he said, his expression most amused.

"What happened?" she asked. "Did you drown a basket of kittens?"

"Now, why would you say that when you know I take no pleasure in animal cruelty?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course you don't."

Voldemort grinned. "Please be seated, Hermione. I've brought you a gift."

"A gift? What sort of gift?"

"Don't ask me to repeat myself. Sit."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not some dog for you to order around."

Voldemort sighed. "I asked you nicely the first time."

"Ask again, without the bossy tone."

He flicked his wand at her impatiently, and she gave a shriek as he made her fly into her seat.

"Now that you're seated," he said, easing into his own throne, "allow me to present you with your gift."

"Oh, I'll show you—" grumbled Hermione, as Voldemort held up a hand.

"Save your anger, and just enjoy."

She was just about to tell him how all she would enjoy at the moment was to punch his snakey face, when the doors to the dungeons opened. She gaped as two figures emerged; one was the Death Eater from before, and the other . . .

"You found her," she said.

"Of course," he answered, taking her hand, and planting his yew wand there. She tore her eyes off of the woman she'd been eager to track down for years, and looked at it.

"What—"

"For the special occasion," said Voldemort. "I would grant you the Elder wand, but . . ."

"No, this is more than enough. Thank you," said Hermione, feeling truly touched. She rolled the wand between her fingers. It felt so oddly right.

Their tender moment was interrupted by a whimpering noise below the steps to their thrones. Hermione's eyes drifted to her pink and filthy toad-woman, and a cruel smile grew on her lips.

"Well, I shouldn't let your gift go to waste. You don't mind if I go ahead and take the first curse, do you?"

"Take all the curses," said Voldemort. "It's your gift, after all. And I do so enjoy watching you perform."

Hermione blushed. "My dear Lord, are you flirting with me?"

His red eyes glinted for a moment, and that was answer enough, but she still appreciated his next words. "With you, my Lady? Constantly."


	6. Blaise and Ginny

**Prompt: Blaise Zabini and Ginny Weasley**

 **Quotes: "Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?"**

* * *

"Would you stop following me, please?"

Ginny came to a screeching halt, her mouth gaping, and stared at the dark Slytherin boy incredulously. "Excuse me?"

"Look, I'm flattered," Blaise Zabini continued, stepping up to her slowly, "But I'm afraid it's borderline stalking what you're doing right now."

"I'm not stalk—"

"And I'm sure you're lovely, I mean, you do look amazing. However, I don't think it would be wise to start anything based on something as unhealthy a circumstance as this."

Ginny scoffed. "I'm not stalking you! We go to the same—"

"Surely you understand? It's for the best—"

"LISTEN, I'M NOT STALKING YOU! WE GO TO THE SAME HALL TO HAVE DINNER, YOU IDIOT!"

While other students around them stopped to stare at the pair, Blaise merely arched his eyebrow. "There's no reason to raise you voice, Miss Weasley."

She growled.

Reaching for her wand to cast the most intense Bat-Bogey hex of her life, she missed it when Blaise grew a smirk, having caught something entertaining behind her.

"What's this then?" asked Professor Slughorn. "Mr Zabini? Miss Weasley?"

Ginny's hand froze in place and she sent Blaise a murderous look before turning around to greet her Potions professor.

"Good evening, Professor," she said, smiling innocently. "We were just having a chat, Blaise and I."

Blaise directed an amused look her way. She ignored him.

All the while Professor Slughorn remained oblivious as ever. "Well, isn't that nice," he said jovially, "You know, it always pleases me when there are inter-house relations occurring. We should all be friends, shouldn't we? Especially when such young, promising people as yourselves. Doesn't hurt to be friendly then, does it?"

"No, Professor," they agreed.

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said and winked, ushering the remaining observers to the Great Hall.

"He's something else, isn't he?" said Blaise.

"I'll say."

"Doubt he wouldn't jump on the chance to have us breed within his precious Slug Club if he could. 'Imagine the possibilities'."

Ginny snorted.

Blaise arched his eyebrow again. "Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?"

Instantly, her lips pulled down. "You wish, Zabini."

"Oh, but I thought I was Blaise now. We were making such progress."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "In your dreams."

As she walked away, Blaise offered to share _exactly_ what he dreamt about, and Ginny answered him with the Bat-Bogey hex she'd promised him a minute ago.


	7. Fred and Hermione (nr 2)

**Prompt: Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "I got you a present"**

* * *

"Look out! Granger's coming through the portrait hole!"

"Dennis—Hey, Dennis! Granger's coming, hurry up!"

There was the sound of frantic pitter-patter, and Fred watched as the tiny second years scurried past him into the boys' dormitories, their arms overflowing with books and rumpled parchment. When the last one disappeared—sending a squeaky 'thank you' Fred's way before he went—he let the door close behind him and entered the common room.

With the small ones gone, the room should have been left with the crackle of the fire to dominate, but instead there was Hermione Granger; stomping her way forward to the furniture by the fire place and muttering under her breath as she did.

Fred sighed good-naturedly and approached her, settling in the armchair next to her seat on the sofa.

"So," he began, "what's got your wand in a knot?"

Hermione snapped her head up and glared at him, just as he'd predicted she would.

"What's got my—You _really_ want to know?"

He tried to suppress a grin. "Very much so."

Hermione huffed and closed the book in her lap shut with a bang. "Well, let's see . . ." she began, "We have a toad as a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, who not only abuses her students but also leaves us utterly unprepared for our OWLs. Harry is constantly in a bad mood, and there's nothing I can say to help him. And to top it all off I have yet to free all the house-elves in the castle and I can't very well do it now BECAUSE MY KNITTING NEEDLES ARE GONE."

Fred waited as she caught her breath.

"And then Ron had the nerve to tell me 'are you a witch or not', which of course I am, but these needles belonged to my grandmother! They're of sentimental value and can't just be replaced by _any_ piece of enchanted metal or wood. I've been looking everywhere for them all day," she finished miserably. Her face buried itself in her hands she gave the heaviest sigh Fred had ever heard. But again, he waited.

It took a moment before Hermione finally twisted her face up from her hands. "Why are you here, Fred?"

He smirked. "Now, is it really that hard to believe that I was concerned for my favourite Prefect?"

The edge of Hermione's lip quirked, and Fred felt something soar inside.

"Doubtful. You'd only merit from having me be incapacitated."

He chuckled. "True as that might be, I'd rather have you cheerful than moody. You're scaring all the children, see, and they run away as you approach."

Hermione's eyebrows rose, and she mumbled to herself, "So that's what that was . . ."

Fred grinned. "Anyway, it's bad for business to have the common room be empty."

She snorted. "And you figured, what? That you'd let me vent and suddenly I'd feel all better?"

"Well," he said scratching his chin, "that, and that I, er . . . I got you a present."

He felt her curious stare on him as he reached into the pocket of his robe. Once he felt the cool metal touch his skin, he grabbed hold, and produced the needles. They were a fine pair, albeit a tad worn down, and with a distinguishable carving on one of them.

Hermione gasped.

Fred smiled as he handed them to her. "Hope they're to your liking."

"That's—I . . . where did you find them?"

He scoffed amusedly. "Library, of course. And you're welcome."

"Oh, yes—sorry, thank you." She was admiring her grandmother's old knitting tools, until suddenly, she frowned.

"Fred?"

"Hm?"

"What were you doing in the library?"

For first time in his life, Fred found himself speechless. It also didn't help that Hermione was looking at him with those brown eyes of hers. Eyes that always knew too much, saw too much, except for when it was remarkably obvious . . . Except for when it was about him and how he felt about her.

He sighed. "I suppose the jig is up."

"What?"

Had it been any other time he would have stopped to be amazed by the fact that she still hadn't got it. Most brilliant witch of her age, indeed.

He probably still had the chance to escape this situation using a little white lie, but Fred figured that this was as good a time as any (despite his face growing warm and his palms turning sweaty).

"The reason," he said, and cleared his throat, "the reason I was in the library was because I was looking for you."

"Why were you looking for me?"

 _Holy mother of Godric . . ._

"Because there's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up," he explained, slowly.

Still, she furrowed her brows in confusion. "So . . .?"

He looked back at her pointedly, and then he saw it; a spark of realisation in her eyes as that beautiful brain of hers had worked it all out. And if he'd suspected _he_ was red before . . .

Colour was spreading on Hermione's cheeks—fast— and she turned and fixed her eyes on the fire. "Oh."

"Yep," Fred said awkwardly.

"So you—"

"Fancy you? Yes."

"Right." She took a moment and then glanced at him shyly. "But you know, I—"

He sighed. This was what he'd feared. "You don't fancy me back. That's all right. Can't blame a bloke for asking, can you?" He tried smiling but his lips wouldn't move. Eventually he just gave up. He cleared his throat again. "Well, I should just—"

Before he could rise to leave, Hermione had his arm in a firm grip.

"That's not what I was going to say."

Fred blinked. "No?"

"No," she said, wearing a slightly aggravated expression, "What I was going to say was that I wasn't sure how I felt, but that I would like to accompany you to Hogsmeade to figure it out."

Suddenly, Fred's mouth was working again. "Really?"

Hermione smiled back at him. "Yes."

He grinned wider. "That's brilliant. See you after lunch in the Entrance Hall, then?"

Hermione nodded.

Before they departed for their respective dorms, Hermione grabbed hold of Fred again.

"Hey, Fred?"

"Yes?"

"I got you a present."

"Wha—"

Hermione stood on the tip of her toes and granted him a kiss on the cheek.

Blushing, she quickly moved to the door leading to the girls' dormitories. "Good night, Fred," she called before disappearing behind it.

Fred touched his fingers to where her lips had just been pressed, and gave a dopey smile. "Good night, Hermione."


	8. Draco and Harry

**Prompt: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter**

 **Quotes: "I wish I could hate you."**

* * *

Draco cracked his eyes open, immediately wincing at the light emanating from the windows. Once the images settled and became less blurry, he properly observed his surroundings.

There was a lot of white.

White sheets, white blanket, white curtains and . . . white shirt. So someone had changed his clothes then.

While Draco pondered this, a shimmer in the corner caught his attention.

"Hello?" he croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper. He glanced around for water when he heard someone step up beside his bed.

"You're awake."

Draco startled and immediately hissed in pain. He looked up to glare at the intruder and discovered that Harry Potter had materialized from nowhere.

"What do you want," he spat at him.

"I only wanted to see if you were okay," he said.

"What do you care? It's your fault I'm here in the bloody first place."

Potter flinched, and Draco felt regret. It got even worse when the Gryffindor looked at him pleadingly.

"Look, I didn't—I didn't know what the curse was . . . I would have never used it if I did."

"You're telling me you used a curse on another person without knowing the repercussions?"

Potter nodded.

Draco sighed. "You really are an idiot, Potty."

Something about the way he spoke caused Potter to look up from his feet. "I'm . . . I'm sorry. I hope you know that."

As much as he wanted to, Draco couldn't forgive him. "You almost killed me."

Again, Potter looked down. "I know."

Draco looked at the other boy and, with a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, "I wish I could hate you."

Potter raised his head. "W-what?"

But Draco was tired. He didn't want to think about this, not now, not when there was so much at stake. He had to protect them, he had to protect his family. He couldn't risk it all for some . . . _thing_ he felt for The Boy Who Lived. For Harry.

Harry who had almost killed him.

 _But not on purpose_ , a voice in his head whispered.

Merlin, he really was a fool . . .


	9. Fred and Hermione (nr 3)

**Prompt: Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "Don't you dare throw that snowba— goddammit!"**

* * *

"Hermione! Will you stop? I'm sure it's nothing to get upset about!"

Hermione turned and shot her friend a vicious glare. "You do not get to decide whether or not I can get upset about something, Ronald! He was out of line!"

"Hermione—"

But Hermione wasn't listening. She had her course set on the tall head of red hair standing outside the castle.

"Ha! There he is!" she exclaimed victoriously.

Ron groaned. "Please, don't start anything! You don't know what you're getting yourself into!"

"I know plenty!"

"The twins won't hesitate going after you for this! You think you're safe just because—"

She suddenly stopped and Ron nearly stumbled into her in the process.

"'Mione, would you—" Ron's eyes widened in horror. "What're you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she asked, now rising from the ground and doing the finishing touches on the snow she held in her hands.

Ron swallowed, looking from his brother to his livid friend. "Hermione," he warned one last time, "Don't you dare throw that snowba—goddamnit!"

"OY! WEASLEY!"

Fred had barely turned around before the snowball hit him square on the arm.

"OW! What—"

But Hermione was already preparing to more his way.

One.

"You! You complete—"

Two.

"—utter—"

Three. Four.

"—wanker!"

Hermione was preparing the fifth snowball, when a hand filled with snow smashed against her face.

"Pfft! Fred!"

As her cheeks froze to ice, Hermione scolded herself for having got caught off guard like that. It hadn't been too difficult for him to surprise her, seeing as how she had been crouched most of the time and barely paying attention. She wished she'd thought of enchanting the snowballs into attacking him rather than doing it the muggle way. Then he would have been tackled to the ground by now, instead of her.

Fred hovered his glove covered hand above her face, a fresh batch of snow already prepared in his palm. His gaze was steady as he looked at her, and appeared oddly calm.

That only infuriated Hermione further.

"Are you going to tell me what that was all about or should we keep doing this?" Fred asked.

Hermione scowled from where she lay on the snow pile.

He sighed. "Little bro', do you have any idea what happened?"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno, she came down from her dormitory all angry, yelling that she was going to kill you. Figured I'd try and stop it."

"And I'm thankful. Now, I think I can handle this myself if you have other places to go."

Ron smiled gratefully. "Was supposed to meet Lav in the Great Hall."

"Well, go on then."

Ron looked at Hermione. "See you later, 'Mione."

She pursed her lips in response.

Alone at last, Fred faced her properly, his expression softening. " _Now_ will you tell me what happened?"

"If you don't know, then I can't see why I should even bother," she answered, avoiding his gaze. However, when it became clear he wasn't about to stop staring at her for some time, Hermione sighed.

"I saw one of the first years."

Fred was silent for a while, but his mind came up blank. "And . . . you hate first years?"

Hermione growled and rose to a sitting position, looking Fred in the eyes. "No!"

"Then what?"

"She had a nosebleed, Fred! You've been testing your products on the students again!"

Finally understanding what the matter was, Fred relaxed. "Hermione, you ever think she might've just had a regular nosebleed?"

Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped slightly, pausing as she took in this new possibility. "Well, it's possible . . ."

"You know we kept an eye on them while testing, and even if we hadn't, you can't deny that there would be the little point in testing them without being there."

"I suppose . . ." Hermione sighed heavily. "Merlin, I made a fool out of myself."

"I think the fact that you readily accepted what I told you makes you less of a fool," he said and smiled. "Although, it hurts that you think so little of me. You really believed I'd go back on my promise?"

Hermione clutched her face. "No, I know, I know!"

Fred chuckled. "I forgive you."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "I didn't even say anything."

"I'd like to think I know what goes on in the brilliant head of yours from time to time."

"Really?" A challenging expression overtook her face. "And what am I thinking now?"

She immediately regretted her words when she saw the smirk on his face grow.

"Oh, I dunno," he started, leaning in and making her blush. "Perhaps that you'd like to make amends for my injury?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ah, yes, what ever will you do with that small bruise on your arm? Never mind the fact that you squashed snow in my face, no, _you're_ the one truly suffering." She jabbed a finger against his chest. "I still haven't regained feeling—"

Hermione was silenced as Fred pressed his lips to hers. It was soft and sweet and left her making a noise for more when he pulled away.

"Feel your face yet?"

"Mhm," Hermione nodded, and grabbed hold of his cloak to pull him close again. After all, she had to apologise _properly_.


	10. Draco and Luna

**Prompt: Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood**

 **Quotes: "Don't fucking touch me."**

* * *

Crack.

There went one bone.

Crack.

And another.

Draco attempted to muffle his cries by clutching a pillow up to his face, praying that this time— this time— it would be over quicker than the last. That's what the books had said. Of course, they only spoke of what it was like in the beginning, when the body adjusted to his new condition. Now, it was pretty much done. This was what he had to look forward to for the rest of his life.

Brilliant.

Another bone broke, and he snapped out of his thoughts. While he panted and doubled over, knees hitting the floor with a loud thud, he absently noted that the pillow had been ripped to shreds and the remnants lay discarded next to him on the floor. He knew his mother would mourn the loss; she had got it for him to use and be more comfortable in the Shack, after all. However, Draco couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment. He was too busy trying to keep from screaming his lungs raw.

Eventually, he stopped caring about that as well.

* * *

"And that concludes today's lesson," Professor Flitwick announced. "Have a very pleasant weekend, everyone."

The students mumbled their thanks and hurried out to freedom.

Draco took a while longer to assemble his things; the soreness of his muscles refusing to ease up, even two days after his transformation.

He was walking out the door when someone had the nerve to stumble into him.

"So sorry," a tranquil voice said. "You're rather devoid of Wrackspurts so I couldn't sense you in time."

"You can't just use your eyes?" he muttered, more to himself than anything else, sighing at his damned luck.

The blonde tilted her head to the side. "Eyes can be blind."

Not wanting to waste more time trying to find out what went on in Luna Lovegood's mind, Draco decided to cut things short. He reached for his fallen books, but hissed in pain at a stabbing sensation in his ribs.

"Don't worry, I'll get that for you," said Luna. She swished her wand and instantly the stack of books settled in her hands. "Here you go."

Draco didn't answer, he just took the books and left.

* * *

The lycanthropy left him tired.

The war left him exhausted.

Draco really just wanted his last school year to be over and done with, which was why he normally didn't take notice to people anymore. To him, there was little point nowadays to do anything but mind one's own business. His wish was that others did the same.

Unfortunately, they didn't.

"What on earth is she wearing?" Blaise asked him as they dined in the Great Hall. The other Slytherin was scrunching his nose up, looking as if there was a particularly foul stench beneath his nose.

Draco followed his gaze to the Gryffindor table.

Luna Lovegood was donning that ghastly lion-head of hers, showing her support for the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Had it been in the old days Draco would have gone over there and mocked her for it, but instead he felt . . . nothing.

Luna must've sensed the stares—for how could she not when there were so many— but it wasn't until Draco lingered on her that she turned around.

She was smiling.

Kindly.

At _him_.

For the first time in a long time, something stirred within the depths of Draco Malfoy; a feeling he was all too familiar with.

Disgust.

He was disgusted with Luna Lovegood.

* * *

He despised her, really.

The smiles she distributed so frivolously replayed in his mind, and the images were affixed to his eyelids, making it impossible for him to see anything else as soon as he closed them.

They burned.

And who was she to smile like that? To him, no less. His family had her imprisoned in their cellar, and she dared be kind to him? What was she playing at?

Not to mention the fact that her very name stood for all he'd come to hate since Fenrir Greyback marked him.

Fucking moon.

Fucking transformations.

Fucking . . . everything.

* * *

Another cycle came and went, and Draco ventured out of the Hospital Wing after Madam Pomfrey deemed him well enough to do so.

His steps were still somewhat unsteady and he could hear too much, and see everything, and smell . . . pineapples.

He turned just in time to see her big eyes stare back at him. She had her hand raised, positioned as if it had been on its way to rest on his arm, whatever for he did not know. All he knew was that there she was; being herself and embodying all that he resented and tried so hard to forget and bury.

To him, she was a walking representation of his pain.

Of his shame.

Of all that he could never be.

Light.

She was light.

And he felt blinded by her, for he had been in the dark for so long.

He looked at her hand and so much of the rage that he never knew he still possessed took over.

"Don't fucking touch me," he spat, jerking his arm away from her, violently enough that she lost balance and stumbled back a step.

"Hey!" someone shouted.

 _Figures_ , he thought, _Weaselette_.

"Don't touch her!" she said.

Draco gritted his teeth. "She was the one doing the touching, Weasley."

Weaselette narrowed her eyes dangerously at him.

"Ginny, it's quite all right," said Luna, attempting to reassure her friend and prevent a fight from breaking out. When it appeared the other witch had calmed, she looked at Draco. "I was only going to give you the parchment you dropped. I'm sorry if I startled you."

She handed him the parchment, a note from Madam Pomfrey which assured Draco an escape from tomorrow's classes, not looking at it. Her blue eyes did travel to his arm though.

"I hope it doesn't hurt," she said, and Draco realised that blood trickled from a transformation wound he'd acquired the night before.

"It's fine," he grumbled, healing it to his best abilities.

Luna still smiled at him gently. "No, I wasn't talking about that one."

He only stared. She looked far too knowledgeable for his liking.

"Do you have any idea what she means—"

Draco didn't wait for Weaslette to finish, but turned away and started walking. He needed to get away from there.

"He's rude," he heard the youngest Weasley say behind him.

"No . . ." said the other girl. "He's just in pain."

* * *

" _Am I to take it that you are attacking even without the full moon now? This is most unusual…you have developed a taste for human flesh that cannot be satisfied once a month?"_

" _That's right," said Greyback. "Shocks you, that, does it, Dumbledore? Frightens you?"_

" _Well, I cannot pretend it does not disgust me a little," said Dumbledore. "And, yes, I am a little shocked that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live…"_

" _I didn't," breathed Draco. "I didn't know he was going to come —"_

" _I wouldn't want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore," rasped Greyback. "Not when there are throats to be ripped out… delicious, delicious…"_

 _And he raised a yellow fingernail to pick at his front teeth._

 _Only, it wasn't Greyback anymore._

 _It was Draco; teeth visible and jagged, leering at his trembling sixth year self. He laughed and licked a drop of blood off the edge of his mouth._

" _Delicious."_

He woke up.

* * *

The sun was setting beyond the mountains, and a breeze made him shiver. Soon, it would be dark again.

Draco leaned against the railing in the Astronomy Tower.

Watching.

Waiting.

He would have to leave soon.

"It's a bit chilly up here, isn't it?"

Draco startled and turned to the intruder, surprised he hadn't smelled the pineapple until now.

Luna frowned. "I'm sorry, I interrupted a deep thought, didn't I?" He didn't answer and she watched as he made to leave again, "Did I do something to offend you? I swear, it wasn't my intention."

He scoffed.

"There's a full moon tonight."

Draco immediately stilled. He took a few shallow breaths.

"What do you know?" he asked.

When she didn't answer, he twisted back, only to realise she'd gone to the railing, not paying him any attention.

She had closed her eyes and her long hair flew around her. It wasn't the way he'd seen Weaselette's hair move in the wind, dancing red fire as she flew around the Quidditch pitch. This blonde hair would form knots and she'd be fighting to disentangle it later.

There was something so utterly human about it, that Draco found himself saying, "I sort of hate you."

Luna didn't open her eyes. "Okay."

* * *

She was warm in his arms, she always was.

Draco burrowed his head in her curls and inhaled deeply, drowning himself in that sickly sweet scent, the one he used to feel was too much.

She stirred.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he whispered against her skin. "Go back to sleep."

"You should too," he heard her say. "It's a full moon tomorrow."

"What are you on about?" he asked, kissing her naked shoulder. "I have the moon right here."

She chuckled softly.

"Sleep, Draco."

And he did.


	11. Fred and Hermione (nr 4)

**Prompt: Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "Looks like we'll be trapped for a while…"**

* * *

"Umbridge?" asked Harry, horrified.

Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head on Harry's knees. Harry held him at arm's length.

"What about her? Dobby— she hasn't found out about this— about us— about the D.A.?"

The elf's stricken face was answer enough. His hands held fast by Harry, the elf tried to kick himself and fell to the floor.

"Is she coming?" Harry asked quietly.

Dobby let out a howl, and began beating his bare feet hard on the floor.

"Yes, Harry Potter, yes!"

Harry straightened up and looked around at the motionless, terrified people gazing at the thrashing elf.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Harry bellowed. "RUN!"

They all pelted towards the exit at once, forming a thick crowd by the door.

"Harry, come on!" shrieked Hermione from the center of the knot of people now fighting to get out.

No sooner had she said the words before a hand engulfed hers and pulled her in the opposite direction of where she had been headed.

"What—"

"Trust me, Granger, you don't want to head to the girls' bathroom, they'll most likely check those first."

"And where do you suggest we go?" she panted as they sprinted down the hall, much too focused on her breathing to consider the fact that she was holding hands with Fred Weasley.

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you now, would it?" he called back over his shoulder and managed to send her a wink.

Hermione glared at his back but said no more as she trusted the Weasley twin to know better than anyone where one ought to hide within the castle.

They'd traveled through two corridors when Fred stopped and rapidly pulled a tapestry aside and ushered her to hide behind it.

"Are you serious? How is that supposed to hide us both?"

"It just is," said Fred, looking over his shoulder and then back at her.

"Is it charmed to conceal—"

He made an impatient noise.

"As much as I find your thirst for knowledge endearing, this is not the time nor the place."

"You find— you what?"

Footsteps were heard.

"Sorry about this," said Fred.

"Wh—"

Her surprised squeal was quickly muffled by Fred's hand as he steered her behind the curtain with the other.

"Did you hear something?" asked a voice, much too close for comfort.

"No," answered another.

" _Finite Incantatem_!"

It was silent for a moment.

"Huh, no one's here then. Maybe you should get your hearing fixed, Cassius."

"Shut up."

The sound of footsteps faded as the people outside the tapestry made their way further down the hall, and both Fred and Hermione sighed in relief.

"So," Hermione started in a whisper after Fred removed his hand from her mouth, "do you suppose the coast is clear?"

"Not sure," said Fred, his face set in a concentrated frown. Then, he reached for the pocket of his robe—a near impossible feat considering their cramped quarters, but he managed— and produced an Extendable Ear. "I'll cast a disillusionment charm on it," he explained, "See if we can't get some estimation of what's going on outside."

"Brilliant," said Hermione raising her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised.

Fred grinned.

After a few seconds of intent listening, however, his grin gave way to a grimace and he shook his head. "Bad news. It sounds like the halls are swarming with Inquisitorial Squad members. Looks like we'll be trapped for a while . . ."

Hermione sighed. "I know it's better than getting caught, but what are we even to do in the meantime? Just stand here?"

Fred gave a chuckle. "Oh, there are plenty of things we could do."

Hermione stared at him and blushed at what she assumed was implied.

"No, no, no," Fred hurried, gathering a bit of colour himself now. "I meant—here!"

At the push of Fred's hand on one of the stones on the wall, it dissolved and transformed into a snug, but far roomier than before, corner.

"This ought to do," he said, a nervous edge to his laugh.

"Yes, it looks perfect," Hermione said, her voice coming out in a higher pitch than she would have liked.

Neither of them looked the other in the eye.


	12. Bill and Charlie

**Prompt: Bill Weasley and Charlie Weasley**

 **Quotes: "This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had. Of course I'm in."**

* * *

Bill paced nervously back and forth in front of his fireplace.

He needed to talk to someone, he really did, because he was sure, he was so sure that it was almost scary. It felt right, everything about it felt right.

But he had some concerns . . .

Finally, he mustered up some of that Gryffindor courage and fire-called his brother.

"Charlie? Charlie, are you there?"

Bill saw two dirty boots make their way to where he was and a second later his brother's freckly face greeted him.

"Hey there, big bro'! What's up?"

"'What's up'?"

Charlie shrugged. "Felt like a 'what's up' moment."

Bill laughed and felt some of his previous uneasiness trickle away.

Charlie smiled. "So, really, what's the occasion? Nothing's happened over there, has it?"

"No," Bill assured him, "everything's fine over here. Well, as fine as it could be considering the circumstances."

"Right."

Bill nodded. "What I wanted to talk to you about is, er . . . different."

"Different?" Charlie repeated, confused.

"It's about Fleur—"

"Ah, that French bird! The one you claimed was only a _friend_ a couple of months ago," Charlie said, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, what about her?"

Bill cleared his throat. "Things have been going very well with Fleur, we get along perfectly and I honestly haven't met anyone like her . . . Ever."

"You're getting sappy, brother."

"Well, I'm about to get even sappier. I'm—I think I'm going to propose." He shook his head. "No, I know I am."

Charlie gaped. "That's great! Congratulations! Or you know, that is if she says yes."

"She'll say yes," Bill insisted, all while ignoring Charlie's sniggers. "So, what do you think?"

"What do I think? Honestly, I'm thrilled for you. Though, I'm not sure how Mum's going to take it."

Bill grimaced. "Yeah, I've not even told her we're dating."

"Wise if you ask me."

Bill sighed. "Perhaps at the time, but there's no avoiding telling her about my fiancée."

"So sure she'll say yes, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Bill said, and paused as Charlie—yet again—laughed. "Perhaps they only need to spend some time together. Maybe Fleur could stay at the Burrow a while."

"Yeah, there's an idea," Charlie snorted. "Why don't I also try to mate a Horntail with a Welsh—Oh wait, you're serious?"

"Why not? It'll give them a chance to get to know one another and I get to have someone with me there that doesn't drive me insane."

"And what about Fleur? Aren't you scared she'll go insane spending whole days with our mother?"

"She's tough, she'll be able to handle it. Especially if it means we'll get my parents' approval."

Charlie sighed. "You're really going to do this."

"I am," said Bill surely. "I would love some support on your end though. So, are you in?"

"You mean, will I help talk Mum into letting your very French—not to mention extremely outspoken— fiancée stay with everyone at the Burrow?"

Bill nodded.

Charlie shook his head. "This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you've ever had. Of course I'm in."


	13. Fred and Hermione (nr 5)

**Prompt: Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "You lied to me."**

* * *

It was as if she woke up.

Hermione blinked, rubbing her forehead and fighting the overwhelming rush of sensations that attacked her. The first thing she noticed was the smell. It smelled of dust and blood. The second was the sound.

Oh god, the sounds she heard.

It all felt too loud for her; the sobs and wails of the others in the room grated on her sensitive eardrums and though she knew it was selfish she wished they'd just stop.

She looked up from the ground and squinted at the candlelight.

She was in the Great Hall. Injured and deceased were all around her, and seeing them moan over their countless wounds made her notice how her own body ached. She mustn't have detected her scrapes during the battle, what with all the adrenaline and other things happening . . .

As a shock of red hair caught her attention, Hermione felt the flicker of a memory spring to life in the back of her mind; something had happened. She remembered an explosion, debris and crying . . . she'd cried a lot. Perhaps that's part of why her eyes still stung.

She approached and found the Weasley's huddled together, Ron's eyes catching hers quickly.

"'Mione," he sobbed, "he really is . . ."

But instead of comforting her friend, she moved.

Ron looked confused, but George, Ginny, Bill, and even Percy immediately backed away to let her through. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were leaning on each other nearby, not paying any attention to what was happening.

Hermione swallowed and crouched down beside the body. _His_ body.

Her fingertips gently traced his lips—smiling, of course he'd go out smiling like a bloody fool—and tried so desperately to remember how they felt when they weren't this cold. This . . . dead.

Her fists clenched and she bit down on her lip.

"Hermione," she heard George say, his voice rasping as if he had spent hours screaming, or crying. Or both.

Hermione shook her head.

"N-no, it's nothing, George," she said, fooling no one. "I'm just . . . I'm . . ."

 _I'm the one who's been fooled._

There were sharp intakes as—to everyone's horror—Hermione's clenched fists started hitting Fred's chest.

"You lied to me!" she cried, beating the body with all she had as tears streamed down her face. "You lied! You lied to _me_! YOU FUCKING LIED TO ME, FRED WEASLEY!"

The others tried to pull her away, but it was in vain; Hermione was determined to say her piece.

"You told me we'd get through the war; you told me that we'd both live! You told me we'd grow old together! You promised!"

Her voice cracked by the end, and though her eyes never left his face, she felt the others behind her hesitate. And then, they'd completely released their grips on her. A second later, she found out why.

"Hermione," said a voice, his warm and gentle hand settling on her shoulder. She instantly stopped her hitting.

All of her emotions washed over her like a waterfall, and Hermione let out a scream, similar to that of a wounded animal, and she let Harry drag her away from the Weasleys. Molly's scandalized glare followed her for a brief moment, and though she couldn't find it in herself to care, Hermione knew she'd regret not apologising later.

Harry's embrace pulled Hermione's thoughts back, and she started crying again, burying her soaked face in his dirty robes.

"He lied, Harry," she said.

"I know."

She continued sobbing against his chest and let herself be comforted; repeating her previous words in anguished whispers, over and over:

"He lied."


	14. Charlie and Hermione

**Prompt: Hermione Granger and Charlie Weasley**

 **Quotes: "You're the only one I trust to do this."**

* * *

Charlie used one hand to steady the broom while the other reached for the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it to wipe that gathering sweat off of his forehead. It was unusually warm, even for summer, and playing Quidditch under such a scalding sun was ill-advised. Still, he and the others felt it a worthy sacrifice. And it did take their minds off of things, if only for a while.

They all descended, and while George, Ron, Harry, Ginny and Bill immediately headed to fight over the shower, Charlie lingered, not feeling the rush. He figured he'd just jump in the pond if it got bad.

Nevertheless, the playing had left him thirsty, and he headed for the kitchen.

"Charlie, for heaven's sake, do clean up before running around inside," said his mother, stirring something by the stove.

Charlie gave her a sheepish smile. "Sorry, Mum."

"The shower is occupied anyway, so he might as well get something to drink instead of staying out in that dreadful sun," commented Fleur from her seat, cutting up vegetables. Next to her was Hermione, and while she seemed inclined to agree with the French woman, she bit her lip and kept quiet.

A good decision, thought Charlie, since Molly narrowed her eyes slightly at the back of Fleur's blonde head.

After his Mum fussed about how important it was to stay hydrated in warm weather and how _she knew this,_ Charlie got his cold Butterbeer, downing it in one go. He couldn't help the satisfied sigh that escaped after he was done, and when he put the bottle aside he noticed Hermione watching him.

The witch immediately turned red and resumed her chopping of the carrots.

Charlie fought a smile. While he did find the whole thing amusing, he didn't want his mind to entertain thoughts of Hermione in that way longer than necessary, nor let them show. She was so much younger than him.

But then again, so was Fleur, and she had gone and married his older brother. . .

Charlie shook his head and decided to return outside, because obviously he wasn't thinking clearly. It had happened a lot lately. He suspected it was caused by the fact that Hermione was the only girl—woman— that he'd been in contact with the past few weeks that was neither related to him nor married into the family. In fact, when was the last time he'd been on a date?

Once out in the garden, he sat down under a nearby tree in the grass, taking deep breaths and tried to wipe his mind clear of thoughts about his non-existent love life. It worked; all he could hear was bird song and all he felt was the wind. It picked up and sent a nice, calming breeze—

"YOU'VE BEEN IN THERE FOREVER, RON! WOULD YOU HURRY UP?!"

There was a loud bang following Ginny's screaming and Charlie guessed that someone was being dragged out of the bathroom—dressed or not.

There was a shuffle to his right.

"Merlin," said Hermione, glancing back at the open window where a bat was now flying out, "they really know how to draw attention to themselves, don't they?"

Charlie chuckled and gestured for her to sit down beside him.

"You're one to talk," he said as she tucked her skirt in to sit down properly, "Remember Gringotts? Least stealthy break-in in history."

"It's funny you should mention that," said Hermione, "because it's actually what I came to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Charlie felt his curiosity stir. "About Gringotts?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn't Bill be more appropriate?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, this isn't about the bank per se, nor the goblins and the like. It's about the dragon we used to escape."

Now he really was interested. "Go on."

"For the past few months I've been trying to find it, make sure it's all right, but there's been nothing. Nothing at all. Even if it was . . . _dead_ ," she grimaced at the word, "there still ought to be something."

Charlie nodded in agreement. A dead dragon was easier to spot than an actual live one; it wouldn't be able to flee or move around, it would just be a gigantic body laying there. As sad as that was.

"That's where you come in," Hermione continued. "Please, Charlie, would you help me? You have the knowledge and frankly . . . you're the only one I trust to do this. It would be awful if the dragon landed in the wrong hands."

Charlie looked at her pleading face, full of sincerity and obvious care this creature which had helped her survive. A creature she felt was helpless, despite the fact that it was a dragon. Not only that, but she also had absolute faith in him; she, Hermione Granger, hadn't found something she was looking for, but she knew that she could trust him to do it.

Perhaps his attraction to the witch wasn't simply because she was a non-relative.

Hermione was speaking again, nervous about his silence. "I hope you don't think me awful for not properly looking for it until now, it's just been so horrible with the war, and I tried once before, but it was so soon after. When I couldn't find it after two days of trying I sort of broke down, actually." She sighed. "I do want to find it and make sure it's all right."

Okay, so his attraction was _definitely_ based on more than the fact that she was a non-relative.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I'll help you."

The smile she gave was so bright that Charlie almost had to squint and was thus surprised when he felt her small body embrace his.

 _Right,_ he thought, feeling a blush creep up his face, _so the attraction is real. Only question is what I'm going to do with it . . ._

When Hermione released him from her arms, Charlie saw that she looked as red as he felt. And suddenly, he knew just what to do.

He leaned in.


	15. James and Lily

**Prompt: James Potter and Lily Evans**

 **Quotes: "You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes."**

* * *

The first thing she saw was hazel.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Lily blinked; two hazel eyes were gazing back at her from above, sparkling with amusement behind a pair of glasses. When her mind paired the sight with the dark unruly hair settled a bit further up, she screamed.

There was laughter all around her.

"Merlin! Quite some lungs you've got there, Evans," said Sirius, grinning from ear to ear.

Lily pushed out of James' arms— less graceful than she perhaps would have liked— and stood up.

"What the he—what's going on? What happened?" She spotted Remus and sent him a look, asking for an explanation.

The other Prefect startled and struggled for words. "Well, I—You came into the common room and suddenly you just—" He motioned with his hands to indicate she'd fallen, or at least that's what Lily guessed.

James sighed, having righted himself up now, and said, "What my incoherent friend is trying to say, Evans, is that you fainted . . . straight into my arms."

Lily stared at him, finding his statement wholly suspicious.

"What happened?" she asked again.

"Exactly what he told you," said Sirius, looking bored now and inspecting his nails as if to emphasize.

"Exactly," agreed Peter, whom Lily hadn't noticed until now.

James smiled. "See?" Before Lily could respond James was already speaking again, winking at her as he went. "And honestly, Evans, fainting? You know, if you wanted my attention you didn't have to go to such extremes."

That was enough to take her mind off of the weird circumstance she was in, and instead into James-Potter-is-a-giant-tosser territory.

"As if I would ever stoop so low to get your attention; as if I'd ever want your attention at all!"

She left, stomping and cursing, and out loud praying for the day she would be rid of his infuriating presence.

As soon as the door to the girls' dormitory slammed shut the four boys sighed in relief.

"That was too close for comfort," said Remus, collapsing into the sofa by the fire.

"I thought it went very well," said Sirius, seating himself next to the werewolf. "I told you my stuns are effective."

"What's effective is James' ability to distract Lily," argued Remus. "You stunning her was pure idiocy."

"She's fine, isn't she? Besides, if I hadn't stunned her when she entered she would have found out Peter was an Animagus."

"I got scared!" exclaimed Peter. "I can't help it if I'm surprised by loud noises and turn as a result!"

"Yeah, we know, but you should really get a grip on that soon, mate," said Sirius. "Either way, you're all lucky I was fast on my feet and did something while you guys gaped like fools."

James glared at him from his armchair. "You're lucky I caught her in time."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Evans was fine, wasn't she?"

James didn't answer, but only muttered something quietly to himself.

Up in the girls' dormitory, Lily was doing much of the same.

". . . Potter . . . stupid . . . thinks I want his attention . . ."

"Oy, Lily! You're doing it again."

Lily stopped and looked at Marlene. "Sorry."

Marlene waved her off. "It's fine, I'm used to it now, anyway. So what did he do now?"

Lily scoffed. "He thinks I want his attention. Can you believe it?"

Marlene responded with a look that pretty much confirmed that she did.

Lily threw a pillow at her friend. "Stop that! It's ridiculous."

"My face?" asked Marlene, giving a small laugh.

"No! Potter!"

"Oh, honestly, Lily . . ."

"He thinks I want his attention! You know what, I'll just ignore him tomorrow, that's what I'll do. That'll show him."

Feeling determined and pleased with her resolution, Lily went to bed, not noticing how Marlene exchanged a look with Alice, who had been quietly sitting on her own bed the entire time.

The two girls shook their heads and retired as well, thinking on how school the next day was certain to be more eventful than usual.


	16. Fred and Hermione (nr 6)

**Prompt: Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "You want me to do _what_?"**

* * *

Hermione handed Ginny the glass of Pumpkin juice.

The redhead only stared at it and then back at Hermione again. "Excuse me, maybe I didn't hear you right the first time. You want me to do _what_?"

"Spill it on your brother," said Hermione, impatience evident in her tone. "I've stirred it together with a potion that ensures it won't be enchanted away, so he'll need to change into something else."

Ginny just kept on blinking. "That still doesn't make any sense. Why do you want him to change his robes?"

"I'd rather not say," answered Hermione, avoiding the other girl's eyes.

"Hermione," said Ginny, not willing to play along further without gaining more information, "why do you want Fred to change his robes?"

Hermione groaned. "Because I left a note in it and I need to get it out before he sees."

Instead of being enlightened, Ginny just felt more confused than ever. "What—you wrote him a note and now you don't him to have it? Why?"

Hermione chewed her lip. "It's a personal letter and I'm not sure I want him to read it anymore, is all. Could you please leave it at that and help me?"

"Personal—HOLY HIPPOGRIFF YOU WROTE MY BROTHER A LOVE LETTER!"

Ginny was tackled to the floor of her bedroom, Hermione's small hand covering her mouth, but she didn't care. This was the biggest thing to happen since . . . well, ever.

"You can't shout it out!" urged Hermione, her whole face red and distressed. "What if someone heard?"

Ginny easily moved her bushy-haired friend to the side and sat up. "Who cares? Hermione, you wrote Fred a love letter!"

"SSSHHH!"

"Oh, please, no one's inside anyway. The others are out playing in the snow and you know it."

"Fine," Hermione grumbled.

Ginny grinned. "Why don't you want him to read it? Honestly?"

Hermione squirmed a bit.

"Don't tell me it's because of what he said yesterday about being asked on dates?"

The look on Hermione's face said it all.

"'Mione!" chided Ginny. "That was for _you_ , you ninny! He was trying to get a reaction from you! Granted, he did, and truthfully I'm glad since I don't think I've ever seen him run away from something that fast in my entire life. But still!"

"So he's not going around dating a huge amount of witches?"

"No! I don't think he's even looked at another witch these past few months."

Hermione blushed. "He made up some stupid lie, though, so maybe I don't want him to have my letter—"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "And your date with Terry Boot totally happened, right?"

"We had dinner!"

"It was a work dinner! You're co-workers at the Ministry!"

"Fine!" Hermione said again. "I'll let him have the stupid letter!"

"There we go!" said Ginny.

There was a shout downstairs.

The two girls looked at each other.

"I should probably deal with that," Hermione said, while Ginny smiled at overhearing the rest of her family try to ask Fred why he was making a ruckus.

"Probably."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Well, here it goes."

"Good luck," said Ginny.

Hermione smiled. "Oh, and sorry about your carpet."

"My carpet—GRANGER COME BACK HERE AND GET YOUR MAGIC PUMPKIN JUICE OUT OF MY CARPET!"


	17. Sirius and Hermione

**Prompt: Sirius Black and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "It's okay to cry…"**

* * *

"Sirius! Calm down!" begged Hermione, but it was in vain; Sirius Black appeared determined to make a hole in that carpet as he paced back and forth, left and right, and though she was frustrated by his behaviour, she understood. He'd lost a close friend tonight.

"I just can't believe it," he said, more to himself than anyone else, "We have bloody magic for crying out loud, how could this happen?!"

"Everything has its time, Sirius, and not even magic can solve everything," said Hermione, but it was to deaf ears, as it had been all evening. Briefly, she wondered if she should call in the others. Perhaps Harry could straighten his godfather out? A part of her did feel a bit hurt that she had to call in anyone else at all, because if anyone should be able to comfort Sirius, shouldn't it be her? Honestly, she was his—

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted when their couch let out a huge groan. They really should get new furniture for the place.

"Sirius?" asked Hermione, sitting herself down beside him. She tentatively placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay to cry . . . I know how much you liked your motorcycle—"

Sirius looked up from his hands where his face had previously been buried. "Liked? _Liked_? That bike was family, Hermione! I loved that bike!"

"I know you did, I'm sorry! But did you honestly think that it would still work after all these years? And it did have a good run. I mean, thirty years is a long time."

He sighed. "I missed so much though, being in Azkaban. Twelve years out of those thirty is a lot too."

Hermione rubbed his back soothingly. "I know."

Sirius leaned his head down on top of hers. "You smell nice."

Still, after all this time, Hermione blushed when he complimented her. "Thank you. It's that shampoo Ginny gave me for Christmas."

Sirius buried his nose in her curls and breathed in. "'S nice."

Hermione giggled softly. "You said that already."

Sirius didn't answer.

They sat there for a long moment, listening to the wind outside as the snow fell; howling as if it had to hurry down in time for New Year's.

"Do you feel better?" Hermione asked.

Sirius hummed in response, having taken an interest in twirling the wedding band on her left hand. "Still a bit sad, though."

At a loss at what to say, Hermione settled for a nod.

 _Blimey_ , she thought to herself _, I'm going to have to find a way to magically restore that rusty old bucket, aren't I? This coming year is already looking busy . . ._


	18. Regulus and Sirius

**Prompt: Sirius Black and Regulus Black**

 **Quotes: "I wish I could hate you"**

* * *

They'd been at the Three Broomsticks for what felt like ages now. Seated opposite one another was Sirius and Regulus Black; each as dark haired and grey eyed as the other, and both equally stubborn. There were sounds of laughter and talk and glasses clinking, yet none of that was present at the two young wizards' table.

Finally seeming to have had enough, Sirius was about to rise and step away when something made him change his mind. "Reg," he tried calmly, his last weapon to get his brother to talk. The use of the old nickname predictably had both of them relive their shared childhood in a matter of seconds, their gazes turning thoughtful. Thinking on how strange the power a word could have, Sirius swallowed. "I had to get out of there."

The brief moment of fond nostalgia was gone and back was Regulus' blank expression from before. He clenched his jaw. "I understand."

Sirius huffed. "Do you, though? Do you even know what mummy dearest was trying to have me do? Do you know what she did when I actually refused?"

"I wouldn't speak of her that way to me if I were you."

Sirius slammed his palm against the table, resulting in more than a few curious stares from people nearby, but the Marauder didn't care. "Damnit, Regulus! How can you be so blind?!"

Regulus didn't meet his gaze, finding interest in peeling the sticker of his Butterbeer instead. He'd jumped a little at Sirius' outburst, but the latter felt too agitated to give that a care, despite knowing how horrible it was to have made his own brother react to him like that. Sirius sighed and dragged a hand through his hair.

"I wish I could hate you, you know. The way I hate them, but I can't. I suppose it's because you're young—"

Regulus scoffed.

Sirius narrowed his eyes. "But that doesn't excuse what you're getting yourself into. I want you out of there as well."

"And where do you suggest I go, brother?" asked Regulus, arching an eyebrow mockingly. "The Potters'? I bet they'd love that."

Sirius blinked. "Well . . ."

Regulus shook his head. "I hope I didn't get your hopes up. I don't really care. Trust me, if I wanted out I'd be out."

It was Sirius turn to scoff. "Trust you? I said I didn't hate you, but trusting you is something I'd never be able to do."

Regulus shrugged. "Your loss."

"I guess so."

There was a stop in conversation again and both knew that it now had inevitably come to an end, yet neither rose to leave. They sat, though tension grew thicker by the minute, as if there was a silent dare to the other, as if not being able to take it any longer proved which one of them was the weakest; which one of them cared more and was most affected by their complicated situation.

Eventually, James, Remus and Peter appeared by the entrance and before Sirius knew what happened Regulus had stood up.

"Let's not make this a habit," he said, leaving his money for the drink on the table and walked away without sparing his older brother a glance.

Sirius remained in his seat, an unsettling feeling growing in his stomach as he watched Regulus escape out the door. Somehow he suspected that the two of them really wouldn't make it a habit. He came to think that they might not even speak after this at all.

And Sirius really didn't know if he'd ever get over that.

"Padfoot!" shouted Peter, to which Remus and James hushed the boy.

Sirius let a grin slowly bloom as his friends approached. "Stealthy as ever, Wormtail."

"No one actually knows what the nicknames refer to," argued Peter, his ears slightly red.

"Well, you don't have to help them figure it out, mate," said James, rolling his eyes as the three of them slid into Sirius' booth. "Did you have company?"

Sirius followed his best friend's gaze and looked to the bottle surrounded by disheveled paper.

"Hope we didn't interrupt something," said Remus, not looking too sorry despite what he said.

"No," Sirius answered with a half-smile at the werewolf, busy letting the thoughts from before sink in. Thoughts of his brother's absence from his life. "You didn't interrupt," he said. "You didn't interrupt anything at all."


	19. Barty and Hermione

**Prompt: Hermione Granger and Barty Crouch Jr.**

 **Quotes: "I thought you were dead."**

* * *

She didn't want to be here.

She _really_ didn't want to be here.

Hermione walked along the rotting halls of Azkaban, attempting to ignore the cold that seemed to seep into her bones despite the removal of Dementors. Trying to breathe despite the stuffy feeling the narrow stone walls provided. Every now and then she swore she could hear someone wail, but another part of her brain countered with the possibility of strong winds. She settled for thinking it was the latter. Mostly for her own sanity.

And while on the subject of sanity . . .

Hermione had a reason for appearing at the wizard prison, and it was not simply as an Unspeakable of the Department of Mysteries. No, it had also to do with her apparent history with the perpetrator she was to visit shortly.

 _History_.

Hermione snorted mentally. As one of Harry Potter's best friends, every Death Eater in here would deem having a history with her.

 _Well, sorry to say it, but your Dark Lord was defeated. Get over it._

So who was this mystery prisoner she was supposed to meet? And why had her higher-ups deemed her essential to the recovering of said prisoner's sanity? With those thoughts gnawing in the back of her mind, Hermione entered the office she'd been told to wait in, while the warden made his way to her. She had been too early it seemed.

The wails could be heard even here, and she had to restrain herself from casting a spell to make it stop. She would no doubt face something far more concerning than noises, and she forced herself therefore to keep her head. Wouldn't do to let them know that the place was already getting to her. She was young still and eager to show she deserved a place among the Unspeakables. It was too bad her mentor wasn't allowed to join. Apparently the matter was so delicate that even that had been deemed too much.

Which only intrigued Hermione more, and did absolutely nothing to quell her curiosity.

It was when the warden arrived—not looking at all apologetic for being several minutes late, his face devoid of emotion and manner clearly displaying a lack of concern for the humans he was in charge of—that Hermione's curiosity was quenched. And for the first time she wished she'd known less.

"Forgive me," she said, "but I'm not sure I follow—you're saying he's returned? But that's impossible!"

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that this situation proves that it very much is possible," said Warden Molesly. He conjured a parchment and a quill. "I'll need you to sign this confidentiality agreement, and also something that doesn't hold us responsible should anything befall you in here—"

"This is absurd! I haven't even agreed to . . ." Hermione took a deep breath, ignoring the faint scent of mildew that followed. She went over the options quickly in her head. Either she declined and risked losing her job, or she took on this highly unique and predictably dangerous assignment . . . She sighed, hoping that the Sorting Hat was happy for what his placing her in Gryffindor would lead to, yet again. "I accept."

* * *

The first thing Hermione noticed was the darkness. There was no light to be had except for from a small window overlooking the ocean. Whatever they'd thought he'd need it for, she wasn't even sure, considering he'd previously been in no state to know the difference. The lack of care she'd seen at this place had already influenced her in the sense that she grew surprised at every little 'luxury' she could find was given to the prisoners. It was barbaric. Despite what they'd all done, the treatment of them was barbaric. And what if another Sirius turned up at this place? Having to suffer like this, while being wrongfully imprisoned. No, she'd simply have to speak with Kingsley once this was all done.

Shifting her attention back to the cell she was to sit in front of, she noted that there was also a mattress on the floor. Dirty, but not too worn. So, a mattress and a view. It wasn't much, but at least it was something for him to comfort himself with now that his mind was back. If such people as him took comfort in anything.

She found a chair had been placed along the wall outside the cell and she dragged to the center in front of the cell. The loud sound made him flinch where he sat. Or so Hermione thought. It really was difficult to see.

"Incendio."

Immediately the room lit up. It was lucky someone had thought to put torches along the walls, no matter how long ago. Feeling a bit more at ease being able to properly see her surroundings, Hermione looked to him again.

Barty Crouch Jr.

He was still huddled against the wall of his cell, but now he faced Hermione's gaze head on and it took all in her not to jump in surprise.

If she'd had any skepticism left in her body after the meeting with the warden, it was gone now, because no one could look at her this intensely and be without a soul. However rotten.

She cleared her throat. "Mr. Crouch, I'm not sure if you remember, but I'm Hermione Granger."

No response. Just dark eyes staring at her.

"I was your student for a while. When you posed as Alastor Moody. At Hogwarts. I realise it's been ten years since then, but . . ." Her words faltered as she thought of how weird this all felt. Why was she speaking pleasantly with this man? He'd been a devoted follower of Voldemort, he had kept Professor Moody in a trunk for a year, he'd been there to torture Neville's parents with Bellatrix Lestrange!

The mere thought of the woman made Hermione's hand travel to her forearm, where the word 'mudblood' had been cut into her skin. The action was something she's wished a long time to train away, but it persisted and now it was something she lived with, having too much else to focus on. But apparently it worked in one aspect. It had drawn Crouch's attention away from her to look at where she placed her hand. He likewise placed his on his own left arm, where she knew his dark mark was. Faded.

"You know," Hermione said, "I thought you were dead." Actually, she'd barely given the man a thought since he'd been sentenced to the Kiss. Neither did she think anyone else had. Which was as much as he'd deserved. But now, he had come back from the kiss. Somehow. And people needed Hermione to find out how. Why. And just how much of him had. She was an Unspeakable and a former student of his. She was the most they had, seeing as how Winky had died years ago from her excessive drinking. Not that the elf would have done anything but cause trouble. Dear lord, she might have even helped him escape. Hermione clutched her wand in a tighter grip, grateful for the measures taken to assure that it would not be able to be used against her.

Either way, many were interested in Barty Crouch Jr now, and to her dismay, Hermione realised she was too. How in Merlin's name had this happened?

"Do you know why I'm here?" she asked. As predicted, he didn't say anything. He was still focused on his mark. Hermione decided to go with that. "Do you know why your mark is faded? You realise why, don't you?"

Finally, a reaction. Crouch had clutched his fingers to tighten the grip on his arm. Evidently he did understand what it meant.

"He fell in the end. Like the mortal he was. Just a body, like anyone else," said Hermione, seeing just how far she could go, "Nothing special."

"You shut your filthy mouth, Mudblood, before I rip your tongue out!"

Barty glared at her, his eyes wild and whatever composure he'd had before was gone. Outwardly, Hermione kept her posture relaxed. Inwardly, she was dancing in victory.

"I didn't mean anything by it, I just thought you'd want to know," she said.

Barty still glared at her, his eyes filled with murderous intent and she didn't doubt that if not for the bars and the magic keeping him in place he would have ripped her tongue out with his bare hands.

Hermione crossed her legs, looking down to her notes and then back up again. "I've not come here to rejoice in your side's loss, Mr. Crouch. I've come here to speak with you, which so far has proven difficult. I will avoid the subject of your . . . _master_ , if you oblige with any answer you can give me regarding your situation. Are we in agreement?"

"No."

"No?" Hermione blinked. "No to the agreement?"

"I want you to tell me everything," he said, adjusting the way he sat, "I want you to tell me every single detail and I want you to tell me who was involved."

"I'm not sure I—" Hermione started but stopped. Of course he'd want to know. He wanted to know who had a hand in his master's downfall, who to hold responsible. If he ever got out, he'd track every last one of them down . . . Including Hermione herself.

She swallowed. "Okay."

Lucky thing he wasn't ever going to get out, now wasn't it?


	20. Fred and Hermione (nr 7)

**Prompt: Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "Are you flirting with me?"**

* * *

"I can't believe this happened _again_!" exclaimed Hermione as she stormed her way to the door, nearly tripping over a box on the floor in the process. She stopped, growled, and gave the box a kick to the side.

"Whoa, careful, Granger!" said Fred, his broad—and magenta coloured— form appearing at the doorway, "That could be dangerous, you never know what're in these bo—" Fred stopped mid-sentence, his eyes taking in the witch's appearance, and began to laugh.

Heat rose to Hermione's cheeks; a result of her embarrassment but also her rage. "I can't believe you . . ."

Fred's laugh eased down to soft chuckles and he approached her, producing a small tin out of his pocket. "You're gonna make us run out one day."

"Just be quiet and help me, will you?"

His chuckles stopped and Hermione opened her previously closed eyes. Fred was staring— as if frozen by a spell— but when he spotted her watching he shook himself out of it.

"Sorry? What was that?" he asked, innocently.

Hermione sighed, Fred's odd behaviour from before already forgotten. "Well, I can't very well apply it on myself, can I? Just help me get rid of it, please. I have an important meeting in the morning and I only agreed to help you out in the store because you and George assured me it wouldn't take long."

"All right, all right. Hang on," he said, opening the tin and scooping up the thick yellow paste onto his fingertips. Hermione hopped up on one the desks in the twins' workroom and proceeded to close her eyes again to let him apply it. She noted that he was surprisingly gentle.

"So," Hermione started, feeling it had got too quiet, "'Punching binoculars'?" She felt a puff of air on her face and wondered just how close Fred was, but when she realised he was laughing again she pushed that aside. "The telescope wasn't enough?"

"What's better than having someone get one eye punched?" Fred asked, his voice overflowing with mirth.

"Let me guess; having them have two eyes punched?"

Hermione felt Fred move and she guessed he was shaking his head. "No, three," he corrected her, dabbing more paste onto her eyes, "One from the telescope and then another two from fooling them again with the binoculars."

Hermione swung her arm out to slap him and hit what felt like his chest. He only laughed. Again.

"An incorrect answer _and_ violence? Oh, you have changed." Barely a second passed before Fred added, "No, you know what? Strike that last part; if I remember correctly you did have a tendency to get violent if the situation called for it."

She attempted to slap him again.

"Only proving me right here, Granger."

"Shut up," Hermione grumbled.

Fred finished his work with the paste and removed his fingers; the lack of warmth making Hermione's eyes feel cold. "You can open now, I'm all done."

Hermione did as told and tried to ignore the horrible feeling of her eyelids being sticky. "Thank you," she said.

"No problem. Don't forget to leave it on—"

"For an hour, I remember. Suppose I'll have to stay here another hour then, I won't be caught looking like this."

Fred frowned. "Never pegged you for one concerned about those things."

Hermione rolled her eyes (despite the strange feeling). "It's only because I know there are people lurking around everywhere, waiting for a chance to take an embarrassing photograph of me to sell to the Prophet." She scoffed, and added half-jokingly, "Or what do I know, perhaps they won't even be able to tell the difference."

Fred was screwing on the lid to his paste and putting it back in the pocket of his robe, his frown still there.

"Fred? Are you okay?"

"'S nothing," he sighed, shaking his head, "I just never know what to do with you."

Hermione felt the corners of her mouth twitch. "Still? We've known each other for years. I thought you and George would have developed a Granger-Emergency kit by now."

He huffed. "Oh? And what would that kit entail?"

Hermione chewed her lip a little, thinking. "Well, Crookshanks to start with. And quite a few books, and some 'Sugar Quills'."

"So that stuff would help calm you down?"

"Yes."

"Huh," Fred mused aloud, "Seeing how you're probably going to be our next Minister of Magic I suppose we'll have to go on creating these kits. For the country's sake."

Hermione laughed, but Fred didn't join in and appeared to have settled for a smile. Her laughter died down quickly as she glanced at his expression. "That's not what you really meant, though, was it?" she asked, having the feeling that it truly wasn't.

Fred appeared to be struggling with his words, something that rarely happened. Hermione had seen it before, but it was not part of the Fred Weasley persona and therefore always came as a surprise. She sat in silence and waited as he rubbed his neck in discomfort. "I don't— I don't like it when you speak of yourself that way."

"Like what?"

"Like you don't see how bloody brilliant you are."

Relieved that that was all it was, Hermione rolled her eyes (her eyelids now getting a bit crusty from the paste which made her recall her Mum's warning 'Don't roll those eyes too much or they'll be stuck like that forever').

"I know I'm not a Ginny," she said.

"Thank Merlin for that," said Fred.

Hermione snorted. "What I mean is that I know I'm not breathtakingly gorgeous or anything, but I'm okay with that. No point in avoiding the truth."

"Well, I find you utterly breathtaking."

"I'm wearing thick yellow paste on my eyes."

Fred shrugged.

Now Hermione started getting worried. He couldn't be serious could he?

"Fred . . ." she began, gulping a little, "Are you . . . you're not . . . Are you flirting with me?" She shook her head and made to correct herself. "I mean, not necessarily right now—at this moment— but lately you've been making some comments, and I thought you were joking but . . ."

"I wasn't joking." Fred inched forward until he was brushing Hermione's knee. "I joke about a lot of things, but not . . ." He took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. He still had paste on them, but he didn't seem to care and neither did Hermione.

"So . . ." She blushed, unsure of what to say.

"Can't believe it took you this long to realise," said Fred, teasing. "And they call you bright."

"They call you funny," she retorted, fighting to speak as Fred's soft and adoring smile melted her from the inside, "I'm not laughing."

"It wasn't my intention," he said, leaning closer. She felt herself do the same, and before they both grasped what was happening, they kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

When they parted it was because Hermione's eyes were starting to irritate.

"Bloody paste," she said, making Fred chuckle.

"That'll make you think twice about testing our unfinished products," he said.

"I dunno," she started, feeling bold, "I quite liked the results overall."

Fred grinned. "Yeah, me too."

They kissed again.


	21. Fred and Hermione (nr 8)

**Prompt: Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "If you keep looking at me like that, we won't make it to a bed."**

* * *

Though a handful of strange things had occurred at the Burrow, seeing Hermione Granger being carried through the door in the arms of Fred Weasley was still an odd sight. It was lucky, then, that no one was there to witness it, for the scene could easily appear intimate and romantic. Hermione had her arms looped around Fred's neck, her eyes seemingly stuck staring at his face, while he prattled on about the benefits of a new product being developed at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. After closing the door behind him with his foot, Fred ventured toward the stairs, only stopping his one-sided conversation when needing to adjust his hold on her. Not halfway done with the steps leading to the second floor, however, he acknowledged her stare and looked at the girl in his arms.

"Hermione," said Fred, his tone turning serious, "If you keep looking at me like that, we won't make it to a bed."

He held her gaze and the intensity of it made Hermione stop her glowering in surprise. Her face heated and it wasn't until she began stammering nonsense that she noticed the faintest twitch on Fred's lips.

"You're teasing," she observed out loud, making Fred burst into chuckles.

"Yeah, I am. Nothing gets past you."

"It wasn't funny."

"Now that's just hurtful."

Hermione scoffed. "You know what's actually hurtful?"

"Here we go . . ."

"Falling from a broom after being pestered into playing Quidditch by everyone."

Fred's shoulders slumped a bit from guilt, but said, "We didn't think you'd be able to fall hovering a few feet into the air. We never even made you do anything!"

Hermione blushed. "Well . . .perhaps you misjudged just how much flying isn't for me."

Fred laughed and continued up the stairs again. "Perhaps." Once they reached Ginny's room, Fred placed Hermione gently down on the spare bed his mother had prepared for her. Only the second day visiting for the summer, and Fred and his siblings had already injured her. Brilliant.

"Thank you," said Hermione, interrupting Fred's thoughts, making the latter realise he was being somewhat dismissed.

"You're welcome," answered Fred, smiling. Luckily, Hermione was preoccupied rubbing her ankle so she didn't see that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. He cleared his throat and pointed to her leg. "Mum will take a look at that as soon as she's home. But you'll be fine in the meantime, won't you?"

To his surprise, Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes, Fred, I'll be fine. And I told you before that I won't have you doing underage magic on me so there's no other choice anyway."

Fred nodded, but inside he was cursing himself for not being older. What good was magic if you couldn't help the people you cared for? Then again, it was a good thing he wasn't older. Most of his and Hermione's interactions occurred at Hogwarts, and if he graduated two years early, well . . .there wouldn't be much of that happening. And he would have to tell her how he felt and he wasn't sure she was ready for that yet.

With one last look at the witch, Fred left the room, reminding himself that there would be time and that he could wait. They were both young, there was no need to rush.


	22. Fred and Hermione(nr 9)

**Prompt: Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "I can't believe you talked me into this."**

* * *

Everything was ready. The plan was flawless and they'd been going over it for weeks. Today was the day, today it was finally going to happen.

And then, hopefully, George would shut his big fat mouth.

Fred's face couldn't help but contort into a blissful grin as he envisioned a future where his brother and Angelina finally got together, meaning that Fred finally got to go ten seconds without hearing his twin talking about how amazing Angelina was or having him ask Fred if he too had noticed the confidence she carried now as their team captain.

Ugh . . .

Instead, Fred held out hope that the two of them getting together would mean less talk and more snog, strange as that might sound. But if it was for the greater good! Even Lee, who never shied away from expressing admiration for any lady, was growing tired of the rambles of a lovesick idiot.

It was near Christmas and mistletoes existed in abundance, but the one Fred had designed was engineered to nail down anyone who stepped underneath and wouldn't let go until they'd kissed _properly_ —as in none of that friendly peck on the cheeks nonsense. There would be no room for misinterpretation. All that remained was for Lee to steer the lovebirds to stand beneath the archway on the fourth floor. It was secluded and quite romantic with its view of the snow-covered grounds and the looming sunset. It was the perfect setting for his plan . . .

"Fred?"

Fred startled, flying up from his crouched position where he'd been peeking around the corner to where the archway was, and turned around meeting Hermione Granger's suspicious gaze. She raised an eyebrow. "What are you up to?"

Recovering from the surprise, Fred plastered on the most innocent smile available in his repertoire. "Hermione," he said, "good evening."

She wasn't fooled and crossed her arms, making her robes move and call attention to the shining Prefect badge on her chest. "What are you up to?"

"I—" There was a tingling sensation and Fred stopped in horror. He looked to the side, with Hermione following his move, and as he'd predicted, there was his brother. But he wasn't alone.

"Angelina?" Hermione's frown from before let up and was replaced with a look of surprise. "I thought you were on your way to the Quidditch pitch?"

Angelina grimaced. Fred could hear the gears in Hermione's brain working next to him, attempting to discern the cause of Angelina's guilt-ridden face.

Fred addressed his brother, "George, tell me you didn't do what I think you did."

George—who unlike Angelina bore no signs of feeling bad—smirked. "I did nothing that you hadn't already planned on doing to me, Freddie."

"I can't believe you talked me into this," grumbled Angelina as the twins were fighting a battle with their eyes. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

Hermione's eyes bulged. "What? What is happening, Angelina? Why can't I move?"

Fred broke away from glaring at his brother and pointed up, sighing, "Mistletoe."

Hermione groaned. "Merlin . . ."

"Now, we're merciful enough to not gather you an audience, but hopefully this'll remind you to not meddle," said George, catching Fred's attention again.

"Meddle?"

Fred ignored Hermione's questioning eyes, knowing that she wanted to know how much he was to blame for their situation. He instead busied himself shouting obscenities at his brother, who did nothing but wave unconcernedly whilst walking away, Angelina trailing behind him and sending a last 'sorry' Hermione's way.

Once they were around the corner and out of sight, Fred stopped his shouting but continued cursing his twin in his mind. If they had the connection everyone always claimed they had, then George would be hearing him loud and clear.

"What do we do now?" Hermione asked after a moment of silence.

"There's nothing to do," admitted Fred, facing her at last. "This thing isn't going to let up until we've done as told."

"I can't believe someone with your genius didn't build in a failsafe."

"Failsafe?" asked Fred, hint of a smile growing wider, "And excuse me, did you say genius?"

Hermione ignored him, "Failsafe, as in a code word in case you wanted to abort the mission."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Oh, I don't know—perhaps for situations like this one!"

Fred grinned, "You know, we could really use brains like yours developing products."

Hermione rolled her eyes, which did nothing to hide the fact that the flattery had got to her, "This is not the time to try and recruit me. Honestly, what are we going to do?"

Fred took some time to think, going over the various precautions he'd taken to ensure that whoever ended up beneath the mistletoe wouldn't be able to get out. There really was nothing else to do but . . . He swallowed at the thought. This was not how he'd imagined this would go. He'd built up this image of what he was going to do for so long now that the fact that reality had caught up with him made him question everything. Surely, Hermione couldn't be looking at him with those gorgeous and clever brown eyes of hers, asking _him_ for a solution. Surely, she wasn't standing so close that he could feel the warmth of her against his front (he forgot that this was because of the gravitation spell he'd cast on the mistletoe) and that he could count the freckles on her nose that were infinitely fewer than his. _Surely_ , she wasn't there for him to _kiss_. It was insane. It was preposterous. But somehow, it was reality.

Hermione spoke then, her eyes taking on an amused glint, "I think this is the first time I've seen you speechless."

Fred couldn't help it, he chuckled. "You do have that effect on me." He summoned some courage and willed his hand to move a lock of hair behind her ear.

To his delight, a furious blush appeared on the witch's face. "I . . .erm, that is . . ."

"Look," said Fred, "there really only is one way to get away from this mistletoe and . . .I'm afraid that—"

"Fred, I'd rather give you a small kiss than stand here any longer, so perhaps we should just get it over with." Hermione's face remained red, but she looked determined. Fred felt sorry as soon as he told her it wouldn't be that easy, and watched her determination faltered.

"Bloody hell, I need to build one of those failsafes next time."

Hermione bit her lip and nodded in agreement. "All right, we should . . .we should just go ahead. And do it. I mean, do the kissing. That."

Fred let out a long breath. "All right. Try to not fall in love with me after this, Granger," he added with a wink to cover up how nervous he was.

To his surprise this made Hermione's eyes widen in horror. Something inside Fred stirred at the look. "Granger?" he asked. ". . .Hermione?"

"I . . ." Hermione avoided looking at him now. She shook her head. "Nevermind, it's nothing. Let's just do this and you can leave to do your pranks."

Something wasn't quite right, but before Fred could ask what was wrong, Hermione had grabbed him by his tie and crushed her lips against him.

At first, there was surprise. Then, amazement at the feel of her soft mouth caressing his and the way her body molded itself against him, making him clutch her tighter at the waist with one hand and tangling into her hair with the other. And after that, Fred's sense made a slow return and he noticed the desperation emanating from the girl he was kissing. The only girl he'd wanted to kiss for months now. But somehow, he didn't think she knew that. So he made sure she knew.

Hermione made a startled noise as his kiss deepened, but he could feel confusion gradually replace the emotions from before. After a while, the two of them broke apart gasping for air and Hermione's eyes searched frantically over his face.

"Fred," she asked, her eyebrows pulling close together, "are you . . .?"

"Yes," he said, determined to meet her uncertain gaze as steadily as he could. "For a long time now."

"Bloody hell," she breathed. And then she pulled him close again, neither of them noticing that the mistletoe above them had burst into colours before disappearing.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"It's worse than I imagined," Lee groaned, watching Fred and Hermione. He righted himself and looked at back Angelina and George standing next to him behind the wall. "But hopefully this'll put a stop to his ramblings, the lovesick idiot that he is."


	23. Barty and Hermione (nr 2)

**Prompt: Any pairing ( I chose Barty Crouch Jr and Hermione Granger)**

 **Quotes: "You'll die and I can't watch the person I love die."**

* * *

She arrived into his vision as a blurry shape, transforming into a too bright and battle-worn image when his eyes finally managed to focus. Her face had several cuts and bruises, dried blood coated her robes and the smell of metal she brought clung to his nostrils. But the light danced off of her brown hair and the messy cloud of locks could almost be mistaken for a halo. But the cuts . . .

"Who?" he asked, gritting his teeth.

She frowned at his raspy voice and brought a cup of water to his lips. "Doesn't matter, they're dead now."

"Good." Barty licked the last of the water from his lips. He hissed when he felt the sting of potions on his skin. He looked up from where he lay on the floor at Hermione who was tending to the cuts on his arms.

She didn't look back at him, but had a very concentrated expression on her face as she dabbed him with the coated strips of fabric. "Who?" she asked, calmly.

Barty rolled his eyes. "No one to punish for this one, girlie, he made me do it to myself when I was tortured. And from the cheers I heard outside, Potter defeated him." He hissed again. "Would you stop that!"

Her furious glare was on him immediately. "No! I can't stop doing that! He was a sick bastard who made you do this! The wounds won't stop bleeding with any healing spells, I tried them when you were busy being unconscious! If I don't seal them with these potions you'll die, Barty! Do you understand?! You'll die and—"

She stopped herself and bit her lip, eyes glistening before averting their gaze. He watched as she resumed her task, her next words smaller and quieter, "You'll die and I can't watch the person I love die."

He lifted the arm currently not in her hold, despite the pain. It felt like it weighed a ton, but he brought it up to her face and then proceeded to twist his fingers into her hair, forcing her to look at him. "You listen to me," he said, peering into the eyes of the woman who'd bewitched him so thoroughly that he'd abandoned his old Dark Lord without a second thought, the woman who could cry for him but simultaneously curse him if he ever considered hurting any one of her friends. "You listen," he repeated. "I'm not going anywhere."

The promise that was loving and threatening all at once made her smile, and Barty let her get back to tending to him undisturbed, closing his eyes in the meantime to rest . . .


	24. Cormac and Hermione

**Prompt: Cormac McLaggen and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "Marry me."**

* * *

"Marry me."

Cormac was kneeling, his chest puffed out and exposed, much like his heart at this very moment. He clutched the small box in his hands a little bit tighter. He felt like he was on his broom again, soaring through the air to chase the Quaffle before it entered a goal, the stands full of expectant faces cheering him on. Making him realise that a lot was at stake.

But he could do it. He could. After all, he always did—

"No."

Cormac blinked, his gaze focusing on the woman in front of him. She was behind her desk and he wasn't sure when, but she had taken her quill out again and was going through the scrolls of parchment layering the area.

"No?" he repeated. "Surely, you mustn't have heard me properly. I asked you if—"

"I know what you asked, but I'm choosing to decline." She looked up. "Now, was that all?"

Cormac rose, repositioning himself from his previously vulnerable position. He moved a few papers aside—much to Hermione's dismay, which he ignored— and sat on the edge of the desk, the box still in his hand. "Hermione, I truly believe you don't understand. I'm asking you to be my wife. You know, much like you asked me to last week."

For the first time, Hermione's uninterested composure crumbled and she widened her eyes.

"Don't tell me you forgot?" Cormac let out a nervous chuckle.

"Are you a complete moron?" she asked, disbelieving. "Is there anything in between those ears of yours except for sawdust and a portrait of yourself? I wasn't serious! Last week I told you to marry me because it was supposed to chase you off! Which it did! You ran away and I thought I'd finally found some repellent for the likes of you, but apparently," she waved her hand at the ring he was holding, "You only went away sprinting, because you needed to buy me a ring. Honestly! What is wrong with you?"

As she waited for an answer and took a moment to catch her breath, Cormac was taking a moment for himself. Where had his plan gone wrong?

Then, a lumos lit over his head.

He stood hastily up. "You don't like the ring! You think it's too small!"

"Wha—no, that's not what . . ."

He grinned. "I'll get you a better one, you'll see!"

"Cormac, no—"

"Sorry, darling, I've got to run!" He gave her cheek a kiss. "Bye!"

Hermione watched him stride out of her office, a hand rising to her cheek where his lips had just been. She felt herself growing warm. "CORMAC!"


	25. Barty and Hermione (nr 3)

**Prompt: Barty Crouch Jr and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "I dreamt about you last night."**

* * *

Barty carefully treaded through the dark, dank hallways beneath Malfoy Manor, being quiet as the mice that accompanied him. It was a habit of late, going down to the cellar. But Barty didn't mind. Nor did he mind being quiet. There was a prize at the end and he would pay whatever it took to get to it.

The other prisoners were long since gone, having been transferred into the ownership of other Death Eaters or killed for disobedience. It had been very fast, the destruction of the Order. Resistance had always been futile of course, but nevertheless, Barty had expected more out of them. Foolish.

But not her. No, not her. She still resisted.

The Dark Lord had kept the Mudblood as a pet for himself. She amused him, he said. Made him remember that there was still work to be done, dirt to get rid of. But Barty knew better. He knew his Lord saw what he saw.

Fire.

She had so much of it. It had been clear to him ever since she'd bitten Dolohov's ear off. The blood had seeped down her mouth and she'd glared at them all with so much ferocity he was surprised they'd been left standing. Then, just as the others raised their wands and prepared to send her to her death, their Lord had laughed.

' _Let her be,'_ he'd said, ' _we'll crush her spirit instead. It'll be worse than killing her.'_

But it had been a year now and her spirit was very much intact. No matter how many Crucios they threw her way.

Barty finally reached her cell and took out his wand.

"Lumos."

The girl immediately startled out of her sleep, her shackles rattling as she shied away from the light. She pressed up against the wall, tucking her body close.

"It's just me," Barty said, stepping inside. The closer he got, the more she backed away, even though there was no more room to escape to. She was cornered. Foolish girl.

Barty kneeled down, taking in as much of her as he could. He observed the marks on her arms and the bruises on her face, as well as the dirty hair he remembered used to be so curly and full of life. But it was none of that that he was here to see. Gently, he moved a few locks of hair and placed them behind her ear, before he steered her chin up to face him.

"Look at me," he said. Hermione Granger lifted her eyes and met his gaze, her brown eyes ablaze with hatred and disgust.

"I dreamt about you last night," Barty continued, his tongue flicking out to brush the corner of his mouth. "Again. You haunt me."

She said nothing.

He bared his teeth. "That it, is it? You still have nothing to say? After all I'm doing for you! No one else speaks with you, no one else dares defy our Lord's orders to see you . . ." He inched closer, so close that his breath intermingled with hers. If he wanted, he could take her for himself, right here, right now. He'd thought about it. Several times. But . . .

Barty swallowed. "Why won't you look at me the way you look at him?"

Hermione's hateful look subsided. She scoffed. "You're absolutely insane."

The slap echoed and Barty scolded himself when he came to again and saw her sprawled on the floor from the impact. He stood up and tugged at his hair.

' _Don't break your toys if you want to keep playing with them_ ,' his mother's voice said.

"Shut up!" he snarled.

Hermione rose into sitting position again. She spat out some blood and wiped the rest off with the back of her hand. "That was pathetic," she laughed. "You have nothing on him. Your Lord is far more imaginative with his punishments." She looked at him again, but this time her gaze was filled with that thing his inner demons had yearned and pleaded for him to get, no matter the cost. But it wasn't his. _It still wasn't his_. "He took everything away from me. He ruined my life. Trust me when I say that there's nothing you could do to make me feel that way about you too."

"Lies," Barty growled.

"Not lies," said Hermione, matter-of-factly. "Truth. And it will be true until the day one of you kills me."

"Then I won't let them kill you."

Hermione blinked and Barty could tell she was as surprised as he was by the declaration. "You don't have that power."

Barty recovered, pleased that something he said had got to her. "Then I'll get it." He left her staring at his back, thinking about the new plan forming in his head.

He'd give Hermione Granger the world again. And then . . .then he'd take it away.

And then—finally— she would look at him the way he wanted her to . . .


	26. Draco and Harry (nr 2)

**Prompt: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter**

 **Quotes: "Stay there. I'm coming to get you." & "You're warm." **

* * *

It wasn't the first time. Sadly, no, this wasn't the first time.

Harry felt his shoulders deflate and his insides sigh at finding Draco stand in their backyard, yet again. The Boy Who Lived had come to hate the rain. Because the rain drew Draco outside. Outside, barefoot, and without an umbrella or cloak to shield him.

The man he loved was as far away as he could in these moments, and Harry found it harder each time to pull him back. Back to him. Back to home. Their home.

"Draco?"

Harry slid open the glass door and tried once more. He tried once more, because what else could he do? He put on a gentle smile and called Draco's name time and time again, because what else could he do?

 _What else can I do? Someone please tell me . . ._

After the fifth calling of his name, Draco turned. His eyes on Harry, but not seeing. It hurt just as much as it had every other time.

"Draco," Harry said, doing his best to maintain that smile. "Won't you come in? You'll catch a cold being outside like that."

"It won't come off," said Draco. "The bloody thing won't come off."

"I know. But water's not going to fix that, we talked about this. Hermione's looking for a spell—"Draco turned away, forcing Harry's words to a stop. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his glasses balancing atop of his hand. He just wasn't equipped to handle this. He was the one who had died, for Merlin's sake! He was the one who had fought Voldemort! Of course, Draco had suffered as well—of course! — but . . .but this was a lot to handle. Especially since it had merely been a year since the war. Harry was still suffering too.

 _But Draco is there for you when you do . . ._

Perhaps there was no such thing as one person healing another, Harry thought. Perhaps all there was was two people doing their best to help one another as well as they could. Even if they came up short sometimes.

"Stay there," said Harry, removing his cloak, leaving him in his jumper and jeans. "I'm coming to get you."

He reached Draco and pulled the cloak over him, making sure it covered as much as it could. Draco was taller than him, after all. Which made Harry throwing an arm around Draco's shoulders that more difficult. But he tried. Because what else could he do?

"You're warm," said Draco, his voice quiet and soft, as Harry led them both back into the house.

Harry chuckled. "No wonder. Do you know how many of the peacocks your father gave us tried to bite my head off on the way in? I had to zig-zag between them like they were Bludgers. 'No ulterior motive', my arse."

From the corner of his eye, Harry could spot Draco's lips give a twitch, and even though it wasn't quite a smile, to Harry it was worth it. He was completely worth it.


	27. Blaise and Padma

**Prompt: Blaise Zabini and Padma Patil**

 **Quotes: "Take my jacket, it's cold outside."**

* * *

"You'll burn a hole through her head if you don't stop soon, Blaise."

Blaise's jaw tensed and he took a sip of elf-made wine, reluctantly tearing his gaze away. Pansy stood next to him, a teasing grin on her ruby red lips. Blaise did not care for it.

"What do you want, Pansy?" he asked.

Pansy shrugged. "I'm bored. Draco and Astoria are off somewhere, and Daphne's talking to Potter of all people. I thought I'd come see how you were doing."

"Am I supposed to feel flattered being the third choice?"

"I should hope so, I'm the most hated witch in the whole of Britain. Being my third choice is a privilege." She downed her drink, careful not to leave a stain of lipstick on the glass, managing to make the whole affair look elegant, just as she'd been raised to do. "But nevermind that, what's with you and Patil then?"

"Nothing."

Pansy giggled. "Yet, you mean."

"No, I mean nothing," corrected Blaise.

"Ah, you've got it bad then."

Blaise suppressed a sigh. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Pansy smirked. "Only that under normal circumstances you'd be over there by now, offering her a drink and a dance and a dark corner of the manor. Keeping your distance and brooding about how to best approach? You care about this one."

Blaise was silent for a moment, thinking on how to best steer the conversation to another subject—when Padma laughed. It was a genuine laugh, one that was everything he'd been taught not to sound. Not sophisticated, but pretty in a completely foreign way. And it instantly drew Blaise's eyes back to her. She was holding a graceful hand to her chest and laughing still, her eyes alight with the spark he'd become increasingly fascinated with of late. Blaise couldn't help it. He was developing . . .feelings.

But as he had learned from watching the adults in his life: to feel was to be weak.

"I'm going outside." Without waiting for a response, Blaise headed for the garden.

He wasn't sure how long he wandered around. There were stars out when he started and there were stars when he decided to walk back to the house. The night air worked well to wake him from the fog that had trapped him inside, to remind him of who he was. The sound from the water fountain took him back to the days living beneath the Black Lake at Hogwarts. He was a Zabini, he was a Slytherin. It might not have served him well during the war, but he'd survived, hadn't he? So why ruin a perfectly good system by . . .caring for someone? By giving someone control over him?

"Oh! Hello, Blaise."

Blaise looked up, startled, at the person just about to exit the door.

Padma gave him a hesitant smile, unsure of how to interpret his reaction. "I was coming out for some fresh air," she continued, attempting small talk. "I assume you were as well?"

Blaise didn't answer. She was being polite and he was staring at her. Presumably a bit too much. He could tell Padma was confused and thought him rude and that she was about to walk away. And that should have been a good thing . . .except it wasn't.

She had just passed him, sending him the sort of good bye you gave someone whose behaviour you didn't understand, when he reached out a hand to hers. Padma swirled back and glanced at the hand and then at Blaise, who let go and removed his jacket.

"Take my jacket," he said, holding it in front of him, "it's cold outside."

Padma blinked. "I—what?"

"The jacket of my dress robes," Blaise repeated. "You might need it, since it's cold."

Understanding dawned in her brown eyes. "Oh, no, I was only planning on standing here for a second or two. I don't think . . ." She paused. Blaise couldn't tell what she was thinking as she considered him, but he was stunned to hear her next words: "You know, why don't you join me for a stroll around the garden?"

Padma moved to take his jacket and it snapped Blaise out of it enough to move too; he wrapped the black dress robes around Padma's shoulders and was pleasantly surprised at seeing some pink on the girl's cheeks. He stopped a smirk from emerging just in time and offered Padma his arm just as the former Ravenclaw looked at him.

"You know, miss Patil," Blaise started. "You are more forward than I imagined."

Padma smiled. "It's all thanks to the Yule Ball."

Blaise arched an eyebrow. "Do tell."

They had their stroll around the garden. Padma told Blaise about her disastrous Yule Ball, about how she'd sat forever while waiting for someone to ask her to dance, rather than just ask them herself, while Blaise told himself things.

 _She's not that charming._

 _She's not that pretty._

 _She's not that intelligent._

 _This doesn't mean anything._

 _I'm not falling for her._

 _I'm_ **not** _falling for her._

He lied.


	28. Tom and Hermione

**Prompt: Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "I dreamt about you last night."**

* * *

"I dreamt about you last night."

Tom gave a tiny nod to acknowledge her words, but otherwise ignored Bellatrix hovering behind his desk. If not for his need to remain in her social circle's good graces, and maintain his stainless reputation, Tom would have snarled at the woman to back away and allow him to proceed his work undisturbed. He wouldn't be graduating with mediocre grades, that much was certain.

"Tom? Do you have nothing to say to that?"

"Can't say that I do," he responded. He observed the sharp point of his pen, contemplating several different ways in which it could end up in Bellatrix's hand. Unfortunately, all of them led to him being cast out from University for assaulting another student. What a shame.

Bellatrix sighed and settled on the table, the edge of her skirt gliding up in the process, landing dangerously far up her thigh. "You really have a way of making a woman feel wanted, don't you?"

"Who said you were wanted?"

There was a small snort from the table in the corner, two tables down. While Bellatrix was still attempting to determine whether Tom had made a joke or not, Tom let his eyes rest on the woman covering her mouth.

The first thing he noticed was how her cheeks immediately turned red and that she tried hide behind her pile of books, to shrink back to where she'd been; she was embarrassed, Tom realised. The second was that her hair was _everywhere_.

"Find something amusing, Granger?"

"Not at all, Black," the Granger woman replied. She was still fussing with her tower of books—which was impressively tall—and moved a lock of bushy hair behind her ear. "Just got something stuck in my throat."

Bellatrix looked as if she didn't believe her, but decided to let this one go for now. And Tom knew it was only for now. Bellatrix was as vindictive as she was beautiful.

"Well, Tom, I'm meeting my friends in ten minutes. I should get going."

Tom barely spared a glance as Bellatrix stood up to leave, but he did not miss the animosity sent Granger's way before she left. If it hadn't taken up a small amount of his most valuable time, he might have found the exchange entertaining. When Granger cleared her throat, however, he had the feeling that more of that time was about to be lost.

"This is a library, you know."

"Really? I wasn't aware," Tom replied. He focused on scratching new letters onto his paper.

"And since it's the library," Granger continued, ignoring the sarcasm, and missing the annoyed tick in his jaw, "I think you should consider the volume at which you carry your conversations. Others are trying to work."

Tom sighed and looked up. "Granger, there's no one here but us."

"I know. I just meant that it won't always be a Friday night," she explained, "And that you should show some consideration for other students when there are more of them here. That's all." She went back to her book.

Tom meanwhile felt a surge of irritation. "It might have escaped your notice, but it wasn't even I who spoke before. Why don't you go chase after Bellatrix and scold her instead of wasting my time?"

"Wasting _your_ time?" Granger snapped. "I'm the one who has to endure listening to that woman throw herself at you for hours on end! Yes, hours! This isn't the first time this has happened! I value my time here, and while you clearly don't value yours, I ask that you find some compassion and entertain your fans elsewhere from now on!" She stopped and caught her breath. "Please."

It was a curious thing. Despite how stupid her speech was, the passion in which she spoke still managed to invoke new feelings of doubt within Tom. Doubt about his ambition for only rich and powerful connections. Perhaps should have aimed to gain other sorts of allies as well, intelligent ones. The ones who, like him, attempted to climb the ladders of society. The ones with more brain than breed.

"What's your name?" Tom asked.

The woman blinked, not having expected the question. "Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I'm Tom Riddle, and I should very much like to apologise for my behaviour."

"That's all right," she said, but he couldn't help but notice the tint of suspicion in her expression. He would have to rectify that.

He put on his most pleasant smile. "If it would please you, I would like to make amends by assisting your studies on ethics in relation to law. The book you have is no good, if you don't mind me saying so."

"But this book comes highly recommended by professor Dumbledore!" Hermione exclaimed incredulously.

"My point exactly," smirked Tom. He held a finger to his lips. "And do keep your voice down, Miss Granger, we're in a library."

Hermione blushed.

Tom chuckled. "Perhaps I should move to sit with you, so that we don't disturb others in the future."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth a few times, helpless at stopping Tom from assembling his things and moving them to her table. He thought the scene rather amusing, but what was even more so was the thought of having Bellatrix someday find them sitting together. Oh, the things she'd do. Naturally he was eager to earn Hermione Granger's trust, but couldn't he do that while also punish the woman for raising her voice at him? Or rather, have Bellatrix punish her for him?

Tom smiled and opened his notebook once more. "Now, shall we begin?"


	29. Regulus and Lily

**Prompt: Regulus Black and Lily Evans**

 **Type of Kiss: Unbreakable Kiss - The type of kiss that really shouldn't be happening, it's a mistake, but you just can't find yourself able to pull away.**

* * *

"Regulus?" Lily said, her bare feet coming to a screeching halt as her eyes landed on him. The note he'd sent her mere seconds ago was held firmly in her hand.

Regulus stepped out of the shadows, moving away from the brick wall he'd been leaning against. "Lily," he said. "You look well."

Lily pocketed the tiny piece of parchment and crossed her arms over her chest. "Can't say the same for you."

Regulus ran a hand through his hair and smoothed it down, the corner of his lip pulling up. "No, I should expect not."

Lily, likewise, had a small smile building. "My parents have just gone to sleep and Petunia is at a friend's house. Do you want to come in?"

Regulus shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't. I'm mostly just here for a short visit."

"Well, I'm happy all the same." She approached him, reaching out with her hands to take his and Regulus melted inside. "How'd you get here?"

"Kreacher," he answered, trying desperately to ignore the flowery scent she'd brought with her. "He . . . I'll call for him when I need to—"

"To leave?" Once again, her green eyes found his and he found it hard to keep talking. Whatever else he had prepared on his tongue would have to wait, because Lily Evans was leaning in for a kiss. "What if I don't want you to leave?" she whispered.

"Erm, well . . ." Regulus struggled for words, but she was _just so close_.

This was not going as planned.

"Regulus," she said, ignoring his uncharacteristic mumbling, "What's going on with you lately? Why do you look like you haven't slept in days?"

"I . . ." But Regulus didn't have a chance to even attempt an explanation. His eyes closed and his nose inhaled deeply as Lily Evans' lips met his.

Perhaps it was better this way. For them to have one last good memory before it all went to hell. For them to have a summer night's kiss to think back on when the world around them fell to pieces. For him to have time to ignore her over the summer, making it easier to act hostile when they were back at Hogwarts. She would probably ignore him back in retaliation for the weeks' worth of silence and he wouldn't have to explain.

But truthfully, Regulus doubted it. He should tell her now, break the kiss and end what they had. He should explain just how important it was that they part ways. It was for both of their safety.

Either way, after tomorrow, their lives would change. Perhaps it was better for her to hate him, to be angry at not receiving an explanation. At least that way she wouldn't have hope that things could be different someday. She would move on, be happy . . .

 _Yes, let her hate me_ , Regulus thought, _let her fire burn bright with rage at the thought of me._

At least that wouldn't make her drown down his dark, wicked path . . .


	30. Fred and Hermione (nr 10)

**Prompt: Fred Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Type of Kiss: Unbreakable Kiss - The type of kiss that really shouldn't be happening, it's a mistake, but you just can't find yourself able to pull away.**

* * *

Fred watched her stand by the entrance, marvelling at how even now— despite all that had transpired— her back remained strong. He could see it clear as day, Hermione was a survivor. She'd come out of this battle alive and she would keep on living.

A sudden gust of wind knocked some dust off the debris, simultaneously making her hair dance. The hair she hated, but that he loved. It flew back, allowing him to see the side of her face, which Fred wasn't surprised to find looking pensive.

"The time for worrying is over, Hermione," he said, grinning, "We won. You can let that brilliant mind of yours rest."

Hermione turned at the sound of his voice, looking surprised to see him, but she still smiled. "The one who should be resting is you, Fred."

"Over that tiny incident from before?" He waved her off. "Nah, takes more than a wall to knock me down. Thank you for your concern, though."

"We were all worried," she said, watching him approach and eyeing his slight limp with a frown. "If Percy hadn't pulled you aside in time—"

"Let's not worry about what could have happened. Point is, I'm fine—" he stopped at her raised eyebrow and rolled his eyes, "All right, I'm _alive_. But that should count for something."

To his relief, Hermione nodded. "It does. Do you want to sit down?" She gestured to his leg and then to the stairs.

Fred wasn't about to argue; his leg did smart a little. Once they sat down, however, he realised just how close they were. He should be thankful, it had been his objective to talk to her after all. But now that the moment seemed to have arrived, he was getting nervous. Then, as if to remind him just how close he'd been to losing this opportunity his leg gave a pang. And Fred found his determination again.

"So . . ." he started. "I've got something to tell you."

Hermione gave a tired quirk of her lip. "Sounds serious."

Fred let out something between a laugh and a nervous exhale. "Yes, well . . .I suppose it might be."

She waited.

Fred began fiddling with his fingers, "Remember that time I offered you jam tarts a few years back? Right before Neville turned into a canary? I think it was your fourth year at Hogwarts."

"I suppose," Hermione said. "I remember asking about the kitchen after that."

"Precisely," said Fred. "And do you remember when Ron got jealous that same year when you were with Krum at the Yule Ball?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed, not understanding what he was getting at. "Yes."

Now came the difficult part. Fred swallowed. "I've liked you, Hermione, for a very long time. Fancied you. And that jam tart was the first thing I did to get your attention when I realised how I felt. And the dance I asked for at the Yule Ball was the last." He looked at her, not surprised at finding her expression stunned. Hopefully she'd manage to process it all on her own, because Fred didn't think he would be able to keep going if he stopped.

"Because of Ron," he continued, "I've kept it quiet. I haven't done anything. But now, after today . . .I could have died without telling you how I felt. How I still feel. And I don't want to live with that regret—"

Before he knew what happened, Hermione had thrown herself on him, pushing her lips against his with force he didn't even know she was capable of. Her small body pressed close and her lips were soft and pleading, moving in perfect sync with his own. Of course, they did. He'd suspected they'd work well together ever since he was sixteen. But this hadn't been the plan. Naturally, he was happy over what was happening, but this wasn't . . .He'd only meant to tell her how he felt!

"Hermione," he tried weakly between kisses, "we. . . shouldn't . . ." Predictably, the words were quickly lost, as he succumbed into her once more, letting go of that last piece of restraint.

It was like drowning in your wildest dreams; you never thought it possible, and now that it's here it feels even more impossible. But Fred happily gave in for even the slightest possibility of it being real. His hands traveled from her hair down her back and he clutched her waist to him, the sounds the move produced from her sending a thrill down his spine. She retaliated by grabbing his hair and deepening the kiss, something which Fred didn't mind the least.

There would be time for their kiss to end of course, but right now it appeared the two of them were content to let it go on forever.


	31. Bill and Hermione

**Prompt: Bill Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Type of Kiss: Can't Let Go Yet Kiss - The type of goodbye kiss when you keep leaving quick pecks on each other's lips, but end up pulling each other back for more, which could go on for hours if one of you don't finally pull away.**

* * *

"Are you sure you need to leave?" Bill asked.

Hermione leaned her forehead on his, smiling at the sight of their clasped hands. "Am I sure? Yes. Do I want to?" Her eyes flickered up, taking in how his scars danced while smiling back at her and she met his lips briefly, indulging herself the taste of firewhiskey and warmth. If even for a second. "No."

"Then don't," said Bill. "Stay the night, I'll sleep here on the sofa if you want. Just . . ."

"You know why I can't," she answered. "It's too soon."

"It's been two years."

Hermione bit her lip. Yes, it had been two years since Fleur had passed away. Two years since Bill had lost his wife. But what worried Hermione wasn't Bill.

She sighed, "Victoire, Dominique and Louis lost their mother two years ago. I still don't think that's enough time—"

Bill righted himself up on the sofa, readjusting the way they sat yet maintaining a loving hold on her hands while he did. "Hermione . . ." he said, his lips twitching as he watched her blush. Neither of them were exactly sure why she did, but she had revealed that there seemed to be something she liked about hearing him say her name. Bill let their fingers intertwine and disentangle all the while, enjoying the feel of her. Reassuring himself that she was there, with him. Which he wanted her to remain. With him. "There's never going to be enough time," he continued. "And they were so small when it happened. For a while now you've been the closest thing to a mother that they can remember."

"Is that really a good thing?" she asked, her eyes suddenly glistening with emotion. "I don't want any of you to think that I'm out to replace her, that was never my intention. None of this is what I intended."

Bill leaned in again, seeking her gaze, "It wasn't what _either of us_ intended and still it happened. And I'm thankful every day that it did."

"Really? Oh Merlin, that sounded pathetic, I'm sorry—"

"Don't be," said Bill, "Don't ever be sorry with me."

"All right," she breathed, preparing herself as he closed the distance between them once more. This time, Bill pleaded silently, using his kiss to tell her what he wanted, and this time, Hermione listened.

So, when the moment for them to pull apart arrived and Bill asked her aloud, "Will you please stay?" Hermione said:

"Yes."


	32. Charlie and Hermione (nr 2)

**Prompt: Charlie Weasley and Hermione Granger**

 **Type of Kiss: Breathtaking Kiss - It's the kiss that you can't do anything for a few seconds after, you keep your eyes closed with mouth agape of you try to let your mind process what happened.**

* * *

 _Happiness. That was Charlie's first thought._

 _Hermione tasted like happiness._

 _He could feel surprise radiate from her at first, but then she leaned into it and_ Merlin _, did it feel incredible. Charlie's spirits rose through the air, soared in fact. Joining the clouds up high, and he hadn't needed a broom or dragon to do it._

 _They parted slowly, ever so slowly, while their breaths mingled and merged, and Charlie watched as Hermione's eyes had yet to open._

" _What was . . .?" she breathed._

" _I don't know," he answered._

"There's Asphodel growing here! Charlie, look!" Hermione waved excitedly at him to get closer, all while inspecting the flower closer. "They look exactly like the ones that grew at Hogwarts!"

Charlie chuckled and climbed up the rocks leading to his girlfriend. "Only you would get excited about two plants being similar."

"Unlike the man who cheers at discovering dragon droppings?" Hermione teased, not taking her eyes off the plant.

Charlie rolled his eyes, this not being the first time he'd had to endure hearing about it. "When I find dragon droppings now, you'll be thankful for it. C'mon, it's getting late, we should set up camp."

Hermione smiled and joined him, but not before sampling a few flowers and putting them away in her beaded bag.

It had been three days of travelling around the mountain and so far it hadn't proved _too_ taxing on the young couple. Charlie was tasked with being on the lookout for anything dragon, using his years of experience and expertise, while Hermione made sure they came out alive. It was surprising how many times Charlie forgot what plants were likely to kill you. He argued that it was due to the fact that they were native mostly to Britain, while the ones he'd got used to over the years were of Romanian descent, but Hermione wouldn't hear it. He got his laugh whenever she got surprised by magical creatures though, however those occasions were too far in-between to make it even. Nevertheless, Charlie enjoyed travelling with her.

Had someone told him a month ago he'd be going on an excursion to find a lost dragon with Hermione Granger, he'd tell them it wouldn't be impossible. Had they told him that they'd be going as a couple, however . . .

"Would this spot do?" Hermione asked, ahead of him once again and showing him a leveled patch of grass without too many small rocks in the way. The sun was setting behind her, casting a golden glow on her curly hair, but she was oblivious to the way she looked—and how it affected him. Once Charlie collected himself he nodded approvingly in answer, and she began moving the tent out of her bag and set it up.

He again found himself thankful—probably for the millionth time—that he'd dared take the leap and kiss her all those weeks ago. If he hadn't, he wouldn't be here with her like this now. He wouldn't have had the chance to experience . . .

Happiness.


	33. Regulus and Lily (nr 2)

**Prompt: Regulus Black and Lily Evans**

 **Type of Kiss: Post Break Up Kiss - The kiss that catches both of you off guard, but says I miss you, I'm sorry and please love me again all at once without any words being spoken.**

* * *

"Thought I might find you here."

Lily looked up from the railing, tearing her eyes away from the view of Hogwarts' grounds and instead focused them on the Slytherin that was approaching her. As always, there was the tug at her heart calling her back to him, asking her why she was just standing there and not jumping into his arms already. But like always, she fought it.

"Black," she greeted him.

"Evans," Regulus greeted her back, the small smirk on his lips bringing back a wave of familiarity that Lily wanted gone.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

Regulus' previous expression dropped and she could see his mask build, however poorly. Regulus had never been very good at hiding his emotions but he was getting better. Lily could almost buy the indifference he was attempting to display. Almost.

"You always liked to escape to the Astronomy Tower when you needed to clear your mind," he said, adding an elegant shrug for effect. Watching him play the part of Slytherin prince always hurt her, but she wasn't going to give in.

"I did," she said. "But that doesn't explain what you are doing here."

Regulus shrugged again. "Perhaps I simply wanted to offer you my congratulations on graduating tomorrow."

Lily arched an eyebrow. "Yes, wouldn't want to do it on the actual day in front of other people, would you? Your _friends_ might be able to see."

Silence stretched on after that as he avoided her accusing stare, thinning Lily's already worn patience. She sighed, "What are you really doing here, Regulus?"

Once again Regulus' demeanour shifted and he was inhaling loudly and slowly, his shoulders moving in sync with his breath as he braced himself for the honesty she was demanding. "You're graduating tomorrow."

"Yes, I believe we've already established that."

His grey eyes narrowed, torn between smiling and chastising her for being sarcastic with him. Then, he continued, "You're graduating tomorrow, which means we won't be able to see each other. At all. And though you might not find it different from how things are now, it will be. It will be very different. Who knows if we'll see each other ever again—"

"Don't say that," Lily interrupted, closing her eyes at just the thought of what he was saying being reality.

"I don't want to," Regulus answered, "but I have to. Lily, I . . ." His words trailed off as he walked towards her, stretching a hand out to lay it comfortingly on her shoulder, his thumb already stroking against the fabric of her shirt soothingly.

Oh how she'd missed that touch.

Before she knew it, she had launched herself on him, very aware that he was meeting her halfway. Both of them had their eyes firmly shut, intent on ignoring what the future held for their separate destinies and both of them willing to overlook what had happened in the past for just this once.

Lily Evans kissed Regulus Black, aware of nothing but his touch and the tears sliding down her cheeks.


	34. Barty and Hermione (nr 4)

**Prompt: Barty Crouch Jr and Hermione Granger**

 **Quotes: "You don't have to say anything."**

* * *

Hermione's first thought was 'ow'. Not the most eloquent she'd ever been, but the circumstances left room for little else. Slowly, her hand moved to feel the wound on the back of her head. Blood. Dried. How long had she been here?

She tried pushing herself up, but the room was spinning at the slightest movement of her head and she decided to remain lying for now. It was lucky she was already on her side however, as it gave view to something other than the ceiling. She noticed she was on the floor. A very dusty floor. Ratty old curtains were pulled to shield the windows, but Hermione could already tell it was night anyway. The room was empty, aside from a small table in the corner. She gasped when she saw what was there: her wand. Or rather, Bellatrix Lestrange's wand.

That's when the memories came back and Hermione's mind went into a panic.

 _How did I get here?_ she thought _, What happened at Hogwarts? Where am I? Are the others okay?_

Hermione gulped.

 _Did we win?_

She struggled once more to sit up, determined to be armed no matter the situation. It never hurt to be prepared.

Oh, but it did hurt she realised, as her head protested and even her left leg gave a pang, ultimately making her crawl instead of stand up. Dignity would have to be put aside it seemed. As long as she got her wand, she'd be all right . . .

"What on earth are you doing?" asked a voice.

Hermione stopped all movement and turned to look behind her. Standing in the doorway was none other than Barty Crouch Jr himself.

Something cold dropped to the pit of her stomach and Hermione fought tears. No . . .

With all her remaining strength Hermione pushed forward to grab at her wand, but it appeared Barty had seen that coming and was throwing himself on top of her. Everything twisted upside down but Hermione thrashed and kicked and tore at everything within reach. She would go down fighting.

"Hold up . . . wait a minute—OH, YOU STUBBORN MUDBLOOD WILL YOU LISTEN TO ME?"

Barty finally got hold of her arms and had her pinned down, despite not being much larger than her. In fact, his skinny knees were digging into her thighs painfully and there was no stopping the tears now.

"Let me go! Let me go right now!" she screamed.

"You're very bold to be demanding things of me in this position," he remarked, tightening his grip on her arms. He leaned in. "Perhaps if you did a little less talking and a little more listening, you'd realise that I'm not trying to hurt you."

Hermione couldn't help it, she scoffed. "And I'm supposed to trust a Death Eater? Let me go!"

"I left your wand on the table! I didn't tie you up, and in case you haven't noticed, you're still alive, girl," he snarled, patience obviously gone.

That made Hermione shut up. Why _was_ she alive?

Above her, Barty was smirking. "Oh, caught on, did you? And here I thought you were the smart one."

Hermione sent him a murderous glare. "Where's Harry and Ron?"

Barty's smirk expanded. "Dead."

And just like that, Hermione's tears returned. "You're lying," she spat.

Barty shrugged. "Believe me or don't believe me, it makes no difference to me. What matters is that you are not."

"Why should you care whether I live or die? I'm a mudblood. Your leader wants my kind exterminated."

Once again, he shrugged, but this time he slowly released his hold on her hands. Though he remained placed on top of her, and Hermione— still struggling with the news of the fate of her friends— didn't bother to fight him off. "Sometimes I want things and I take them. Simple as that."

"So he doesn't know I'm alive?" she asked, already working out what possibilities that gave her to rid them all of the Dark Lord.

The edge of Barty's lips twisted and to her horror he licked his thumb before using it to wipe her cheek clean. "No, girl, he doesn't. And it's best if it remains just so. He will no doubt kill us both if he found out."

Hermione frowned. "You're risking a lot for someone like me."

"I'm fueled by greed," he said, as if that explained it. Perhaps it did. "And don't worry, I have no need of your thanks. You don't have to say anything."

Hermione grit her teeth together. "I wasn't going to."

He chuckled a bit too loud. "No, I suppose you weren't."

There was a pause, and Hermione took this time to digest what was happening. She was alive. There was a strong possibility that Harry and Ron were not. Lord Voldemort had won. And he didn't know she was here.

Only this Death Eater did.

 _I still have a wand near me. The only thing stopping my escape is him_ , Hermione thought and looked at Barty, who was currently tracing the scar on her neck with a finger and staring at her as if he was starving and she was a meal to be devoured. She swallowed. _Well, I never did stray from a challenge before . . ._


End file.
